It's Friday afternoon at last, another week of work is past.
Tomorow 'twill be Saturday. (I hope a round of golf to play.)
I usually don't take the time to post a message all in rhyme.
It puts me in a happy frame, of mind--just like a playful game.
I read a post by Cowboy Joe, a poet from the land of snow.
He wrote the whole thing as a poem, sitting in his chair at home.
(OK, I had to stretch for that one.)
I took his challenge, told him I could do it too! Or, at least, try.
I mean, come on now. Just how hard could it be, really, playing bard?
Keeping up a constant beat with words that rhyme is no great feat.
Why, people do it all the time! Though most are much more skilled than I'm.
I'm really getting into this! My mood is turning into bliss.
I know that all my reader friends will try this too, like other trends.
Rhyming blogs might knock 'em dead. The biggest hit since, well, sliced bread.
And pretty soon the blogging masses will all be rhyming out their ... (Maybe I ought to re-think that one.)
But now I'm staring at the clock, and find I'm faced with writer's block.
It's getting close to supper time. I've run out of ideas that rhyme.
My previously impish mood is turning now to thoughts of food.
I fear that I am doomed to fail at besting Joe in this travail.
I guess he's just a better poet, and if you others didn't know it,
Well, now you do. I quit! I'm beat. I'm going to get some food to eat.
So you win, Joe, up in B.C. I hope you savor victory
With well-earned pride, cause you're the best. I'll stick to prose, like all the rest.
(And I thought that would be easy!)