As I walked home from the open mic,
My head was on fire with poetry.
Then the heavens opened,
The rain hissed as it hit me.
Extinguishing my spark,
Sending me running for home.
Where still dripping, my hand,
Reached instinctively for my pen.
And as I wrote I began,
To smoulder again.
It’s an affliction… 😀
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes asbestos underpants are a necessary part of any poets wardrobe
LikeLiked by 1 person
Haha!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love your smouldering pen… x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you I write through the burn
LikeLike