This is poem three, three, three
On my writing journey
I barely ever wrote one
Before the year began
Now here I am at three, three, three
Wow
I like it in the summer
With plants, trees and sun
Spring and early autumn
They’re alright too with lots of stuff to
do
I’m not saying it’s any good
I don’t care what others think
It’s just for fun word games
And it keeps me from the pub
I could write about the mists of time
Or love, lust and greed
Ghosts, demons, magic
Or the grey lifeless sea
Today though it’s just congratulations
Simply well done, to me
For still being at this bloody task
On day three hundred and thirty three
