Sunday minus inspiration
brings the need to write a poem.
What’s to do but look for words –
a treasure hunt without direction
Dropped a wordle to my inbox,
words galore in pink variety.
Still nothing speaks to me with beauty
sense and significance in a sulk.
Letters thrum across the page
urging me to risk them.
Courage on strike, I lay down my arms,
trip in shame at nothing achieved.
When will it be Monday?
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