I wanted to write something nice for a change
Not skitty, but pretty
Not vicious or cruel

I wanted to prove to myself above all
construction, not destruction
could be fashioned with this tool

I wanted to prove my muse wasn’t a hammer
But rather, could work hand in hand if need be
I wanted to think my muse might be a chisel
Carving the rough-stones of raw poetry

To delicately tap
To see it unwrap
To fold so it fits in the white envelope

Caressing the temples
Of migrainous souls
Rekindling the fires of warmth-bringing hope

I earnestly set out
With this as my quest
For once to be courteous
And give of my best
A nice rolling rhyme
Such a comforting ode
But the imp in my pocket’s about to explode

I begged, “Let the readers see
just who I am”
“Sod off!” said the imp,
“Are you Desperate Dan?”
Granny: I could have let it lie, but I didn't let it lie. Blame Vic and Bob....;¬)