Sitting on a butte, howling at the moon… I fell off and landed on my head.
My Trolls found me, and picked me up, and hauled me all the way home.
They set me at the computer, all cozy, wrapped up, and wouldn’t let me go.
Said they wanted to hear some more, great stories, about themselves, of course.
Life just seems more fun with them, as those marauders wander, all over the place.
But that grumpy dragon, whose been pooping on my flowers, each and every day…
He’s simply, has got to go! It wouldn’t be so bad, if he didn’t bury them, so deep.
And I think he’s only doing it, cause he wants to make me, freaking, crazy, insane!
He’s become jealous of the others’ stories, and he wants to be the very first, in line.
Leave it to a dragon, to do ANY THING, to try to hog, the very essence of my page.
For he knows that even the most serious poets, are prone to sneak a peak, at times.
Their comments are just, so much fun to read, as they comment on, the ensuing fun.
It seems if I write sonnets about my self, I tend to lose that steady stream, that’s mine.
You see, it’s not as much fun, to hear… how I’m blessed… again… and again, again.
And those wild Trolls do so many crazy stunts, till I simply, can’t leave them alone.
Of course, they’re patterned after my sons, who cringe, run, and hide, when I am near.
But, embarrassing my children, can be seriously, so much fun, with, my Hubby near.
But I’m beginning to wander, again, I think, as my friends start lining up at, my door.
But now I wonder: have my poems become me? Or have I become a part of them?
Its getting harder to tell, now-a- days… But I don’t really care… as long as …
You read and make comments on what I write… and laugh, a little, along the way.