Well, I have a shovel in hand, 

Standing before a mountain, a wonderland,

Written on a sign was, "Stranger, you'd better dig,"

-find all the treasures, all the 'thingamajigs.'

and you'll be glad you did."

The mountain shined and shimmered, twisted and beckoned, 

With diamonds that a giant could bowl with

With gold you'd never wanna blacksmith.

We had sounds, but now we got language,

Overflowing with words, no dams, no blockage

The golds and diamonds and jewels and treasures 

were dispersed throughout, hidden in feelings, actions, even our banter

all the fathers and mothers, seasons and colors,

You're hard pressed not to find a keeper.

 

So I found a shovel a few years back,

When my teacher said, "For homework write a poem, and bring it back." 

And I wrote something strange,

'Cause I never thought of the lyrics in which English could be arranged,

My mind coudn't shut up. 

It's got a pen that's never used up

Runs around, writes details from far away and close up.

It hates highlighting what's important,

Makes the insignificant scarf become the story's forefront.

Paints another picture from the one the eyes think is pretty

but the mind says, "Here's something better."

 

I found too many treasures,

Too much to write about, pages you couldn't measure,

Needed a bag, stuffed it with my treasures,

pulling out and examining each one with pleasure.

So you see, writing's a contest

Open to every lady and gentlemen, every boy and girl

Attached with a hint: "Here's a shovel, take a whirl."