And everything fits into place
There's always some weird oversight
That jerks your chain and you lose face...
A confirmation goes astray
A rendezvous you somehow missed
A scrap of paper thrown away
With details of a special tryst...
You blame your handbag – it's a mess
What you need is never there
No pen to write with - great distress
For this poet - deep despair!
We're always rushing, but what for?
What happened to the Great God Zen?
Time passes and though less is more
Life falls apart without my pen!
(c) Poet in the woods 2018
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