Bunched, jumbled words jump in my brain
I sort them into sentences
Space them like trees down my clean page
And decorate new thoughts again
I let the prefixes explain
Recall poets should not complain
And throw out all their dirty words
Like drenching rain down a dark drain
But after each poem's begun
Plant seeds, prune, 'til verses harden
Through wild meadows lay a clear path
To secluded, secret gardens
Thoughts start to flow, start to grow
You do as much as you are able
You think of seeds, uproot a weed
The day's tasks listed like flower labels
Where choruses like trellis grow
And in full sun bright colours glow
End with faint glow like setting sun
You, and the last perfect word, go.
Go to picnic, go to dinner
Go to rest, to drink or party
Go to sweet sleep, resigned to die
Leave behind gardens you started.
-ends-
The poem is a joke about how you wake up muddled in the morning and try to sort out your thoughts day with lists. The joke in the last verse but one is that the last word is short, go, and ends the distraction and inactivity of writing or reading a poem. Then I added the last verse. Go to party, go to sleep, go to die. Prepare to die is less hard but resigned echoes the vowel. Your choice when copying and reprinting. But remember to add by Angela Lansbury.
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