One lazy day a thought occurred unto a friend of mine.

“To sit about is most absurd, let’s sit and write a rhyme.”

“What rhyme to write?” thought we in dread, “To write a rhyme is hard

Without a title,” yet we said, “We all shall play the bard!”

We bickered and we voted long, and after much debate we cried,

“Enough of voting, majority won, the name official’s ‘The Frog’s Bride.’

We all agreed to write and write until the week had gone,

Then come together that we might decide on who had won.

I thought it would be wond’rous fun to tell a tale in rhyme,

A famous tale, knows everyone, a tale as old as time.

But writing rhyme and writing prose are not at all the same.

One draft, two draft, comes and goes and both of them are lame.

And inspiration always fails when time is pressing on,

The only thing that e’er prevails is the fact your mind has gone.

I pondered this and other thoughts until at last I deemed

The challenge most impossible. At least that’s how it seemed.

It was in this low point I met again that friend of mine,

It seemed he too was under threat of turning out no rhyme.

But he had started, not like I, who had not e’en a jot,

He read his lines and said he’d try to fit them in a plot.

Said I that I had nothing now, no lines, no verse, no rhyme,

When suddenly, I don’t know how, the bells began to chime.

“Clang!” They called, “awake and write, now there’s a thought indeed!

No rhymes, no verse, no lines might be precisely what you need!”

A writer always makes the best of everything they see,

And I, no different than the rest, took hold the chance with glee.

And inspiration! How it flew and filled my mind with rhyme,

I hoped to have a poem true before an hour’s time.

Now some might ask, “But is it fair to call it such a name?

The poem and the title share so little that’s the same.”

To that I have no answer, no, it shall be told in time.

The conference will quickly show if title matches rhyme.

But the moral of this story could be like the fairytale

Where the clumsy princess, sorry and forlorn, began to wail

‘Til the lowly frog came to retrieve her little golden ball

In the hopes of a fine wedding, but got thrown against the wall.

The moral of this story could be like the start, you see,

For the clumsy princess got her ball, and then was full of glee.

So, some may argue ‘til you’re tired, with all their might and main,

That the only chance to be inspired is sit down and complain.