It seems to me,

That recently,

Words denote my life.

They surround me,

Confound me,

And rebound upon me

If I am not quick

To tie them down.

It seems they won't behave,

However much

I rant and rave

And wave my pen around.

I place them upon my desk

In orderly rows,

Which only goes

To show

How careful I am.

But will they remain still,

Until I am ready for them?

Oh no!

Off they go,

On their merry way,

As if they're the ones

In charge today.

So, what's the result

Of these chaotic words?

They truly make me

Look absurd,

The phrases I tried

To send to you,

Both beautiful, and true,

Have turned to mush,

As if I rushed them.

So maybe I must start again,

And write just ten lines per stanza,

Instead of twelve.

                                             _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Owain Glyn