Journal Time

 

I’m sitting in English,

with nothing on my mind.

Writing a poem that has no rhyme.

It’s not very brilliant,

but so far it’s good;

for its journal time in my neck of the woods.

If it were my choice, I would not write,

but I try with all my might.

So my poem is done, I have work to do.

And now I am saying goodbye to you.

 

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