Sometimes I get a little South of sane
Don’t come in from out’a the rain.
Just let the words flow from the brain
And hop aboard a smok’n train.
My poetry pipes play pleasant prose
As I blow my clogged two barreled nose
Then try to get some sense of naught
And learn from what the masters taught.
I read and write and moan and groan
Then someone calls me on the phone.
Tell ‘em I’m busy doing nothing at all
Not making any money but hav’n a ball
Putting words together, tick, Tack Toe
Putting them on Gather, to see if they grow
A word is a thought, a symbol in ink
That relays a feeling, like a sutle quick wink
The meaning may mean a different thing
To you or them but the melody may sing
Communication is a questionable trait
Like, “Hello” what’s going to be your fate?
So I’ll crunch and I’ll cry and say my good-by
And hope that your paper is stronger than two-ply.
Richard Lynn Livesay…I think