It brings up distant images, but none that I can use;
No, “Stump” does little for my literary muse.
I could describe a precipitous game I used to play
In which I lost a battle with a tree stump one day;
But I’m not in the mood and I’ve told it before
So you’d probably accuse me of being a bore.
Or I could write about the oak tree I used to climb
Which got cut down, but I can’t make it rhyme.
I could try to describe the stump I once found
Outside my home, just lying on the ground.
It hadn’t been lying there the previous day;
Yet right beside the hedge this tortured relic lay,
Looking like a human form writhing in pain;
Or a lost screaming soul that had gone insane.
I beg your pardon readers, What’s that you say?
You’re tired of my rambling?
I’ll call it a day.
Written for The Daily Post #Stump
©Jane Paterson Basil