I was sitting in the garage plucking pheasants and letting my mind wander. I started to attempt to recite an old country verse with little success! There was only one thing for it, grab a pen and write my own version…
I’m not a pheasant plucker,
I’m just sitting on this chair,
Plucking at this pheasant,
With feathers everywhere!
I’m not an Ice Road Trucker,
I’m an Ice Road Trucker fan,
I pretend I truck the Arctic,
Down to Baldock in my van!
I’m not an antiques expert,
At an auction for a Grand,
I’ve bought so much by mistake,
I’m sitting on my hand!
I’m not a proper poet,
I’m just writing words in rhyme,
A sonnet here? Limericks appear!
I do it all the time!
© Baldock Bard 2013
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