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Words
Curt Vevang
Where do our words come from, you ask,
all of those words we love to read.
A word for each possible task,
they'd not exist without a need.
When I was young, I had a sense,
as I'd go in, some strange new door.
I've seen this place, I know it well,
I know I've been here once before.
To my surprise a word exists
for such a sense, can it be true?
Some Frenchman said, long years ago,
I think I'll call it déjà vu.
And if I eat so much I'm stuffed
or have a night with too much brew,
when all I want is my soft couch,
I've found out now, they've named that too.
To my chagrin I'm not the first
whose excess food caused so much pain.
sur-feit became, a word before,
the glory days of Charlemagne.
So I sat down to coin a word.
I'm sure it suits me to a tee.
And I shall claim it as my own,
a better word could never be.
Alas a word that's mine all mine.
I'm a rhyme-ster, I am, I say,
this word I know describes me fine,
I'll add it to my resume.
But what a shock, it made me pout
I looked it up, what could be worse?
A rhyme-ster is, I now find out
a writer of inferior verse.
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--Submitted by vevang on 2012-07-31.
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Amber:
That was cute, and it made me smile.
Posted 03/06/2013 09:07 AM
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R. A. James:
Loved it! Playful use of rhyme and wonderful music in the poem, and I enjoy a surprise ending. Nice job.
Posted 08/10/2012 10:56 AM
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