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Elusive
I thought I had it nailed.
The poem glittered bright.
I quickly grabbed a pen
and set myself to write.
But that poem ran away
just as I turned my back.
It stayed just out of reach,
A’laughing at my lack.
I stamped my foot and cried.
I sulked and turned away,
pretended that I didn’t need
to write at all that day.
I thought I would give up,
maybe try another tack,
but slowly, one by one,
the guilty words crept back.
They ran into my brain,
making phrases as they went,
and there my poem formed,
as had been my intent.
Copyright ©
Barbara Peckham
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