Literary gentleman tried.
To work with suggestions supplied…
His cup of tea,
But more for reading than write.
No words were coming forth,
Didn’t dare let his mind take its course…
One onto which he could spring,
Vain daydreams his only source.
Young love left far behind,
His own barely brought to mind…
The man was stuck
Having no truck,
To use in his poetic grind.
It’s hard to think young
When the waffles are over-done…
Romantic life shot,
Even to use of the tongue!
His efforts came out poor,
Self-centered rant, to be sure…
Try as he might
He botched the red light,
So results were foolish but pure.