So Pinhole inspired me
To try out my hand
At writing a poem
(I know it’s not grand)
But this is the season
When poems are hot
‘Twas the Night Before Christmas
And all of that rot
So maybe if I
Can write something with flair
People might sit up,
Take notice and stare
But a story’s what’s missing
I don’t have a plot
(Which is the case with my writing
More often than not)
I won’t write about fat guys
Or reindeer that fly
Those things have been done
Their time has gone by
I could write about Christmas
Or oboes or Brie
I could write about penguins
Who yearn to be free
But none of those things
Get my juices to flowing
The page remains blank
My boredom plateauing
So what, you may ask,
Are my plans? What to write?
I do have a goal
To have words to recite
But it seems that I’ve managed
To do it again
There’s no story in sight
Much to my chagrin
If you’ve read this far
Than for you I have pity
There’s about as much thrill here
As a finance committee
But read it you have
And for that I give thanks
That means more to me
Than a handful of francs
So please leave a comment
If you like what you’ve read
Or even if you didn’t
(I don’t need a swelled head)
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