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Ode to the Three-Minute Poem Plop
In the study, bright and sunny,
I thought I'd try something funny.
Three minutes, that's all I need I cried,
As I set my timer, pen and paper aside.
I brewed my thoughts, to nice and hot,
Clicked the timer, it proclaimed a plop.
The words danced, swirled in a muse ballet,
Melding to a happenstance touche.
But, soon my thoughts began to drift,
To coffee and toast, as a hunger twang miffed.
I'm way ahead with my word play draft,
Surely there's time to pause my craft.
Suddenly the timer beeped, too late it cried.
My poem lay there soft, with runny white inside.
Just like a par boiled egg, it was yucky, half-done.
Poems like eggs, need full time run, to be finespun.
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