Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

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Illustration: Edward Lear

I can knock up a poem
In no time at all,
If my time’s running short
And my back’s to the wall.
It isn’t a talent,
My brain is just geared
To rhyming and meter
And verging on weird.

If I’m doing the housework
Or walking the mutt,
I am thinking in rhythm
Although, there’s a ‘but’,
That isn’t to say
That the stuff’s any good,
But the rhythm and rhyme
Seem to be in my blood.

I can blame all the books
As a child I was read
When the dreams wouldn’t come
As I lay in my bed;
All the poems and Seusses
And monologues quoted
To which Mum and Grandad
Were firmly devoted.

Yet though I lay blame
I should probably be
Grateful they gave
All the poems to me.
My mind may be twisted
To rhyme while I work
But I could just…

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