Days of Rhyme and Snoozes

I sit here relishing a custard-filled and chocolate-topped choux bun. If I had a trumpet I’d surely blow it. It seems that I’m “An Emerging Poet” and, icing on the cake, I’ve “got potential”. Imagine my elation at such an unexpected elevation. My many years of scribbling, so long unheralded, unheard, pleasing but me and me alone, and now at last the gods atone for past disdain and disappointment. Yet even as I contemplate my new persona, I surely know a day of reckoning awaits. In old age now, my words grow trite and rusty. I fear that, sitting here, awaiting inspiration for yet another new creation, my rhyming days are almost done and, truth be told, I’d rather have another deliciously inspiring bun, to be followed by, maybe, just perhaps, another of my afternoon naps.