I grabbed my pen and paper and sought solace on a bough,

A tinge of blush rose to my cheeks to encapsulate love.

I could sprinkle some alliterations-an easy task for me,

Being a loner, despair descended to use obvious imagery,

Shrugging it off bravely, I thought a nice rhyme would do,

“You aren’t penning a lullaby,” said my cross mind and bid adieu.

Oh! I bowed low before Christ, wept at this hard chore,

Paper lies defeated and a tired pen that won’t work anymore,

A simple verse on a four-letter word has me morose.

Then an idea struck, penning love is like describing a rose.

I woke up my pen and paper, pushed myself into the cognitive stream,

If gems of syllables, styles and sound are strung, poetry is a royal realm.