I get a choice- from all the words in the world-
to pick the one I choose,
Of course too many times I must repent-
I spy a dolt whose retention I should lose.
But then there are those kaleidoscopic times-
The word I prefer is the one which I should elect,
And I curse not the name-and my tongue does the same-
At this proved password I have no reason to regret.
These times are irresistible manna to me-
Although I never do get full,
They are a shelter for my heart and the call of a lark-
As though for a job I have pulled the right tool.
It croons to me-this riddle I enjoy-
With rules that recur from its loam.
Then when the word seems just right-
and has just enough bite-
I maneuver and mold it to a poem.