It's true words can be such a problem, to where they can cause us some trouble,

If they burst forth in writing or speaking, then cause us to run on the double.

Towards some place to hide from the fury, of some person hurt from a letter,

Or correcting that thought to more letters, that spoken amiss are not better.

Not better, that is, than the letters matched up to make words that cause bliss,

And reciprocation then causes not hiding but  hugs and a kiss.

Well, maybe that outlook is crazy, especially since words on a page,

Can fly o'er the Internet further than kisses can land but the rage,

When thoughtless words jump off the paper or scream from the screen where you type

That rage can sear ears from where ever, your thoughtless words drum up some hype.

So the point is of course to write nicely, to think 'fore your thoughts hit the screen

And have your words make some one happy,  which feeling the reader can glean.

 Now, Alicen, reading back, this poem is certainly an example of rambling, lol

H8cloz wrote a note to me to say, thanks for the lift,

I like that comment better than the ones that cause a rift.

It makes my day as well, you see, to see somebody care,

About the rhyming words I do, that then I print to share.

And though I said I could not write about a fallen log,

A comment nice as nice can be would make me write a blog.

There's lots of things I now could write about the log it's true,

The fallen tree against the ground, it's source against the blue.

The blue that is of clouds and sky, and also of the green.

The green of leaves that use to grow to make a pretty scene.

I love the trees, they soothe me, so why cannot a log,

It used to be part of a tree, and now it blocks my dog.

He really is too old to jump, and cannot get around,

That fallen log, that piece of tree which sits upon the ground.

Of course I guess that I could move the log and change its place.

But then I wouldn't have this poem with which a log to grace. LOL

It's all about the weather or my pets it seems I write,

Now that could put the average poet in a dreadful plight,

Unable to put other things of interest into ryhme,

It seems however that this poet doesn't have the time.

I cannot think of things to say, I work too many hours,

And then if working is all done, I'm mowing, weeding flowers.

Or cleaning rooms or dishes, or out to walk the dog.

There's nothing there to write about, except a fallen log,

The one that fell along the path, that Mikey likes to go,

Although it's pretty sitting there, there isn't much you know.

Not much that is, to write about, a piece of fallen tree,

So off I go to chores and things, whatever else I'll see.

Have a good day!

Amazing how my writing is the weather, all in rhyme,

I take a minute and I look, and wonder where the time,

From winter, when I wrote here first, to fall and getting cold,

Yes, now when leaves are falling round, and temperatures are bold.

And soon the leaves will all be down, and snow will coat the ground,

Covering all in white and ice, for miles and miles around.

As cold as it may sound to you, there's beauty raw and lovely,

I love to watch the new snow fall from heavens high above me.

However autumn just arrived, and summer said goodbye,

The time has passed so quickly, I don't know the reasons why.

Perhaps it's just that as I age the time flies by much faster,

Whatever reason that there is, of that I'm not the master.

Hope everyone has had a good year-stay warm and healthy!!!