I tell a lie when I say
Poems in mind always play
Streams on endless output
My mind is never vacantly mute.

To tell you the truth it oft happens
When riding to work on buses or trains
Like a lost river dry up my thoughts
Stubbornly dry much like walnuts.

Funnily it doesn’t for long last
It’s preordained mind mustn’t rust
A fellow traveler brings out an apple
Nibble at it with it grapple.

In boredom my eyes at the scene gape
How the apple gradually changes shape
With each bite a chunk is torn
In each bite a poem is born.