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.