A Muse Bouche.

Sticks and stones may break my scones (scönes?)

But, words please don’t desert me – or is it dessert me?

Words confuse;

They have no use

For a wastrel like what I am;

And however they are put

They drives me caput!

I play with the words

And the words play with me;

It’s a working relationship

Sort of a quid pro quo, in Latin, as you see.

But, sometimes the words

Just won’t come out to play;

And I have no bouche amuse,

For my writing, for me.

But, I can still read words other than mine;

For we all need a Busman’s holiday;

And departure from the scribing is inordinately fine.


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