Happy Lark's 2nd Poem

Time has passed by since I wrote No awards received, not even a vote Book shelves are filled with all the best sellers Libraries kept mine down in their cellars. I tossed out the old glass oil lamp It let me down when I wrote at my camp I was alone there, and never disturbed Accept for those squawking blue jays, I got perturbed. Warm inside, plenty of wood in the box I would feed the scavengers including the fox Plenty of writing paper and now new quills Denture cream supply and my arthritic pills. Maybe if I write in unique styles There wouldn’t be frowns, only smiles Publishes would not answer my calls Bookstores closed their door on me at the malls. With a quill in hand and blue lined paper I decided to write a mystery caper I need a plot, but will leave out a clue Thought of Jekyll and Hyde, but that won’t do. Writing is difficult, hard to make a living No sales have been made, no one is giving Maybe I should change my pen name That would look better in the poet’s hall of fame. I dipped my quill into the ink jar Came up with a enticing title of ‘pappy ol’ pa’ Pappy was a word that I had to find its rhyme, Now that my ink well is low, I am almost out of time. I know my poems don’t always rhyme It’s because after dinner I always have wine. I’ll write literature books like Longfellow I am lost for words, I’m just too mellow. Sip up some liqueur for a nip and tuck Then go for my classics and try your luck Being a bit stuporous you’ll get through But mine are better than Nancy Drew. I tried writing something for a classical piece Halfway through the music the conductor ceased I had added words to Bach’s Fugue in d minor Was there something else that would be finer? So now you can see how hard writing can be Happy Lark is my pen name, but you don’t know me.