My fingertips to write
To adlib, make magic on the page
The read back was no more
than a bunch of garble
Stop press, this woman is a fool
I jiggle my appointments
to manage my time better
I have no wish to waste it
To see it perish, like old apples in a bowl
Off the cuff, I decide that fresh air was needed
Stopping in the middle of the road
Remembering the parish church
have a monthly boot sale
There, I picked up a wonderful fleece
Would it prove true the legend?

© AnitaDawes 2022