#SOL 17 Day 17
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~ William Wordsworth
My notebook is coming apart at the seams.
A little like me it seems.
It has hardly been written in or read,
But its demise has me seeing red.
When I bought it, it looked really great,
but now on my nerves it does grate.
It’s not like it’s just a small piece
If it were then I could have peace.
I don’t want to leave it bare,
but this rip is more than I can bear.
To abandon it doesn’t seem right,
Within it will I be able to write?
Oh, I’ll keep it and stop my whine
As I pour myself a nice glass of wine.