I'm really not sure how I started -
a new idea when Grandma farted,
or inspiration in the dead of night
when imagination's freed for flight?
Once that first line took its place
the next emerged at snail's pace.
He searched the past for wasted lines
and lined up lists of words for rhymes.
The rhythm hiccuped and fell flat
Tum it tum ti something cat.
He paced the floor and sang a ditty
and breathed a sigh when tea took pity
on his travails as he lost the plot,
found a theme, ...... grasped it ...... not.
And he didn't know how to stop
so took a knife my lines to crop.
Well, here I am in all my glory
but what I am is another story -
nothing like the first conception....
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