It’s New Year’s Day
And here I sit, quite curiously content.
In terms of a life spent wowing astounded literary critics
I haven’t made a dent
And yet I have my small, devoted band of peers
Who, when listening to my prose, at least appear all ears.

And so, sitting placidly in place, I must admit I have no grievances
(And if you think I’m going for a “grievances” rhyme you’re nuts!
Nothing rhymes with grievances!)
I have but a modicum of quiet pride
That nestles deep inside
From whence a tantalizing stream of sparkling verbiages flows
Bursts from the earth and in the waning twilight glows
Casting shadows across the sky

And in my curious content
I wonder where my latent lust for wealth and notoriety went
I finally lay my pen to rest
(Yup, I’m going for the “breast” rhyme! Just watch!!)
And cease my ever-present quest
My o’er weening, nay pray utter my penultimate test
(The children are cowering in the corner. No Daddy no!)
For that most illusive of all creature comforts, breast.
You’re the best!