I reached out for a witty word
Which slipped away unseen, unheard
Escaped from my writing fray
And left me feeling quite absurd.
I did not retreat that blighted day
Giving up is not my way
My heart barely missed a beat
Treated this as bizarre play.
The bon mot marshaled its retreat
Sauntered down the plucky street
Paused beneath a Bijou sign
Wilted swiftly in the heat.
I grabbed it gruffly by the spine
Wrapped it up with heavy twine
Made sure that it was mine
Treasured the moment, quite sublime.
(Apologies to “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”)
“Un bon mot ne prouve rien.”