Thirteen

 


I had an aching concept for a poem.

It wormed its way into my brain today.

I felt compelled to give a proper home

To all these lovely words that came to play.


And as it played it spread to half a page.

Contrived, it told an old familiar tale.

About an evil wizard and a sage.

Who lived in a fair Kingdom in the Vale.


But much like many old, familiar plots

It seemed to be a little bit clichéd.

And even though impressive in its spots

It’s best that I just leave it where it lay.


For there will always be another worm.

An exercise in madness, I confirm.


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