the dance of the ink riddled fingers

digging up old rhymes

Posted in the poet-tree by enisea on 18/05/2011

There was a notebook that I found amidst the many notebooks in my room, excavated from piles of folders of university notes and ramblings.  The bulk of its pages were blank and looked at me longingly to be remembered and made useful.  So I decided to rip out the few pages that had been used (no more than 10 pages), they were mostly separate trains of thought and random writings.  But lo, in one of the back pages I found a poem that I must’ve written years and years ago.  Suffice to say, I was amused and I hope you are too!

My fingers smell of Vegemite
It strikes me much as odd
That dark and salty spread that wafts of childhood times and times forgot

There’s chance that this odd incident
Was effect from this arvo’s cause
For indulge I did in this salty spread with ease and without pause

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