I tried and tried again
To write a poem from beginning to end.
Though this is what I planned at first.
The night goes on and my writing gets worse.
I decided to print during the night.
It's the only thing that seems to look right.
I know I'll be marked from one to ten,
Are they my teacher's or my friend.
Crumbled papers gather around my knees,
A glass of water is all I really need.
Laundry's done, and I had my bath,
Back again, quick as a flash.
Fearful that I'll write a bummer,
Time slips by as I sit and wonder,
Who ever thought that writing a verse,
Would be so hard, Though math is worse.
Twelve o'clock and all is well,
My head's getting big, It's starting to swell.
A pen in hand felt like my only friend.
Before I realized it, I reached the end.
Christine Kerr
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/birth-of-a-poem-3/
