I was writing a poem
Sitting under my favorite tree
The weather was cool
And for a moment, I felt free

As I was scribbling my write
On the pages of my notebook
A gust of wind blew to fright
And ripped a page of my book

I began to write about my pain
The challenges, I face each day
Rushing, pouring came the rain
I left quickly to get away

The rain stopped after awhile
And the sun came out smiling
My notebook was all soaked in
Drops of water started piling

The ink drowned within the pages
All smeared, not one write escaped
The white pages, now all black
My thoughts rushed to escalate

With a smile, I picked up the book
And felt my inked pain being washed away
I think it's time to bury this book
Until then, I must find another way...

©sim