The bored bard tried hard to write a shard of prose about his toes, why he wanted to write about his toes I guess only he knows. The bored bard, found it hard to write anew every day, in an exciting way, so, he wrote often a load of rot and then sometimes it was not, but then just occasionally he would spill the lot.
The bored bard found it hard to write on a summers day, he watched the birds and the butterflies at play, frittering away the day. The bored bard tried playing cards, being inspired by kings and Queens, but, he became the joker as the smile left his face when he couldn’t write and ace and stormed around the house like a jumping jack.
Oh, this bored bard found it hard to be inspired and write a piece that everyone admired, no imagination fired, just a brain weary and tired, he thought that maybe he should retire. So, out came his quill and he wrote of his own free will, until he made himself ill, and went to bed with a bottle of pills. The bored bard slept hard and had many dreams, when he awoke he picked up his quill and wrote reams about his dreams, on all sorts of ridiculous themes. He is still a bored bard although to imagine that is hard, cos when he dreams he becomes an insatiable bard, yes you wouldn’t know it but he becomes an incredible poet.
© All Rights Reserved Mark Symmonds 2017
Rhythm of the Ink 