To read aloud at my writing class,
One which told of our universe
And touched on problems of lad and lass.
I now relate with much pity,
That one perfectly good day was spent
Pushing my way through the city,
Onward towards a dental appointment.
The next evening our P.T.A.
Decided I was a volunteer…
They had me trapped with an array
Of cup-cakes and tea and kitchen cheer.
Then a weekly obligation
Owed to team-mates at the bowling lane,
Filled me with exasperation
About my fruitless writing campaign.
At our Camp Fire Girls’ coffee break,
My unkind thoughts needed censorship,
For I was one chosen to take
Nine-teen girls on an overnight trip!
When my precious spare time did come,
A pal pleaded with winning discourse,
That days full of sun and freedom
Should be spent on the nearest golf course.
Finally I hid in the den.
Let’s all pause to consider my plight…
I raised my trusty fountain pen
….. And could not think of a thing to write.
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