I fell in love with poetry when I was six or seven years old. All the little nursery rhymes were so sweet to my ear. I memorized them and sang them, bringing all those queer characters to life in my mind. So I figured I could write poetry too. I conjured up a character and decided the poem should also have a theme about life. With tablet and pencil in hand I wrote, after much editing and pondering:
Along a hot and dusty road
A ragged beggar trod.
His clothes were covered o'er with mud.
His feet were poorly shod....
And then I got "writer's block" that dastardly enemy of all writers--the same thing writers complain about in magazines, books and articles all the time. As much as I thought and pondered, the next verse would not come to me. I just couldn't decide what to do with that beggar. As far as I know, he is still "trodding" along that dusty road, and I've no idea where he is headed. I'm just going to assume he finally got there. And now, after eighty years, I can say that my very first poem is now published!
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