at the factory

poet at the factory It had been a long day at the factory but when there was a break, he jotted down a few words and during the day, it became a poem- he always had a pen and block ready, words were so flighty he may forget what he wanted to write if he waited too long. Coming home and told his wife I wrote a whole poem today, a good poem his wife asked if the poem was about her, no he said it was about a tree the one at the entrance of the village. His wife went back to the kitchen and slammed the door The poet came out of his cocoon and said to his wife: All my poems are about you, my muse, with you at my side I can`t write about the old tree in the village They kissed and made up, and both lived long and had good deaths blissfully unnoticed by the world.