, ,







I sit at my desk,

the whole house a mess,

pen gripped in my teeth,



Formed feelings I know,

as the words start to flow,

and I tap at the keys,

making verses.


Sometimes the poems spring,

from the deepness within,

some syllabic style skill,

weaving words.


The craft I possess,

with gymnastic prowess,

and a rhythmical rhyme.




© Musing 2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm