The Poet’s Day Off

A poet sat musing one fine day in may
What shall I wright in my poem today
Shall I write of the wispering breeze
The singing of birds or the humming of bees
The cry of the blackbird hunting for food
Or the sight of the starling feeding her brood
Or the tang in the air of new mown mown hay
Or the sight of sandmartins making nests out of clay
The souind of the skylark on the way to the ground
Avoiding the nest so the eggs can’t be found
The babbling brook rushing over the stones
Or the little grey squirrel sitting nibbling pine cones
Or the little red robin chirping away
Seeking out worms from the leafy debris
Or shall I just sit by the babbling brook
With a tankard of ale and read a good book.