The Writing Touch

To all you Nanowrimers out there, I raise my glass and sing this song:

It took me near
a half century.
I read all the books.
There were so many.

You’d think I’d have
the Writing Touch
but all my stories,
they’re not so much.

My Protagonist
is such a klutz,
he loses the girl
to a weasel of a wuss.

My Gatsby don’t
gat at all,
my tall-in-the-saddle
a wee bit small.

My Moby Dick
wasn’t a whale,
just a goldfish
all white and pale.

My Huck Finn
on a river raft
sank with a hole
in the craft.

My James Bond
He’s in reverse;
Mister Goldfinger
gave him a curse.

My Don Quixote
never left home,
My Emma died
an old maid alone.

I wrote about peace,
wrote about war,
but all my battles
were such a bore.

So don’t stop like me
when the draft ain’t fine.
Keep on at it,
make the sparkle shine.

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