It is now eleven thirty late at night,
And I’ve spent the whole day rushing out of sight,
Having only just got back,
All ability I lack
For trying any sort of rhyme to write. 

First a bank, and lots of shopping – such a bore!
Then a Garden Judges’ meeting was the chore;
After that took cousin to
An informal little do -
There was yakking, on which I will say no more.

So I simply cannot poetise today;
And your kind indulgence thereunto I pray,
For, not only did I dine,
But I glugged a lot of wine;
Therefore this will be my little lot, today! 

© Colonialist April 2013 (WordPress)


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About colonialist

Active septic geranium who plays with words writing fantasy novels, with notes writing classical music, and with riding cycles, horses and dinghies.
This entry was posted in Challenge, Colonialist, verse, writing, music composition, fantasy, Africa, journal., Gardens, Personal Journal, Poems, Really Awful Rhyme and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.


  1. 68ghia says:

    Well, even inebriates, you are a much better rhymer than I could ever be ;-)


  2. Pussycat44 says:

    The drinking wine I can understand, but garden judges meeting in the rain I do not. Did you go undercover?


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