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Playing in the Rain

(c) Linda Hutchison July 2017

Playing in the rain

Writing on my brain

Words are sought in vain

Story sketches slain

Walking down the lane

Hope begins to wane

Thoughts flow down the drain

Goes against the grain

Running for the train

Tripped across a chain

Ankle swells with sprain

Cold adds to the pain

Scanning screen terrain

Building up eyestrain

Hoping I’ll obtain

Words much more urbane

Tale is just mundane

Think I should retrain

Pour me a tisane

Hope, I might regain

Playing wet again

Am I featherbrain?

Wanting to attain

Warmth in my domain

Tap me with a cane

Tug upon my mane

Poem is my bane

Mind is split in twain

Sounds like I complain?

Writing is a strain?

Art is too arcane?

P’haps I should abstain

Wipe away tearstain

Pour yourself champagne

Ignore deep disdain

Thumping of migraine

You are not insane

Confidence you’ll feign

Find a new high plain

Joy of the quatrain

Exit hurricane

Stare out windowpane

Bending sugarcane

Soothe by counterpane

Scripted novocaine

Wrapped in cellophane

Please not inhumane

Just to entertain.


Playing in the Rain: Work
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