That one could be a Poet,
When something exciting within, is now dead.
Words, I thought only rhymed,
When, all other actions are mistimed.
Exciting today as it is,
So full of life and laughter,
I wonder, if the poet within me,
would wake up from his slumber.
Where there is a will, I was told there is a way,
A pen stand it was, that brought cheer,
to my otherwise boring day.
Stopped all my work,
Picked the pen up, from its stand,
My actions, timed or mistimed,
MY WORDS, ALL OF THEM RHYMED!!