Green grass along a cerulean sky
                Sought I
                                To write:
                                                The perfect prose.
Thoroughly I searched,
                Yet my pad remained plain and pure
                And quite unquenched.
I strolled stolidly and walked wearily
        To the water’s unexpected whims.
                                Amusing as it were, well…
                        With its lacking of lapping—
                                                 just somewhat lazy:
                                For the wind blew blessedly refreshingly,
                Yet the waves seemed scared to surface—
                        Somewhat suspiciously.
Then my ears caught quite a commotion
        Coming from behind me:
                                Chuckling and chasing squirrels
                        Pounced past perched pigeons
                        As if to bother the birds
                        Because of blatant boredom.
Deafeningly distracted became I
        When all of a sudden
                A fickle photographer focused her
                Large lens
                        Dangerously, daringly in my direction.
        Vainly I ventured to assume,
                Yet I assuaged,
                        And I moved
                                Maturely… (as anyone should).  
        Pointed and positioned to the person of peace
                                placed in the park,
        She snapped, and she snipped a picture or two
                Inevitably to post on a wasted wall space.
As the sun set,
        To be clearly cliché,
        I wrapped up my writings
                On my once plain and pure pad.
        Had it had eyes,
                It would have gawked and glanced
                        For my gaze in return:
“You call that a creation? Corny it is,
        Not at all concise.”
Carelessly content, I closed the cover
        Leaving my pad
                Quite unquenched.