A One Minute Rhyme Called Unwriting

I didn’t write at all today
perhaps tomorrow morning
it will likely be as bad as this
so this should serve as a warning
some days my fingers peck the screen
like happy little birds
and fill it up quite easily
with a mass of different words
but I didn’t write at all today
my fingers took a rest
so when I’ve slept they’ll try again
to do their very best.

My River

I miss my river
grey though she
ebbs and flows
slowly lapping
with a kind
of resignation
as she dwells
upon her glories
past and famed
but still
I miss her sounds
her accent rare
and noises off
banks north and south
the songs she sang
and those not sung,
her lack of airs
despite her graces
which other
grander courses
of well renown
present, these
only make her
feel right
and me feel right
in turn