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Wednesday, 24 October 2012

image for My life as a man #24 All it takes to make me write bad poetry is the West virginia Hills, a quart of white liquor, and something indefinable.

All is the way it should be!

In the heart of every West Virginian is a storyteller. Our most famous spinner of yarns was the incomparable Pearl S. Buck. And while I'm no Pearl Buck; I do spin yarns. In my heart, dear readers, lives a poet. Unfortunately for you folks, that verser is a failed poet.

My haiku is astoundingly bad. My free verse should be chained and hidden in a forgotten pit. And my rhyme, my rhyme has no reason. None the less, I keep writing verse, inspired as always, by a quart of white liquor and a sunny day. And now, because I love you readers, I'm going to inflict some upon you.

All is the way it should be!

A rattlesnake buzzed "Hi!" to a honeybee;
And the bee passed the greeting
To a squirrel in a tree.
And the pond came alive
With the sound of the hive,
And all was the way it should be.

God said "all is well,"
And the sun shone down
While chipmunks played tag
Over logs on the ground.
And the raven called "Caw!"
To his friends one and all.
And all was the way it should be.

"Come over to my log,"
Said a turtle to a frog;
"And we'll watch all the fish swim by."
And the frog said, "OK,"
"If you want to play
"Well I guess we could give it a try."

Folks, I swear this is true,
And I wrote the words down
As I listened, God spoke
In a million woods sounds.
And if you can sit quietly
Under a tree,
God will tell you
All is the way it should be.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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