There once was a writer from St. Paul
Who could only write well in the fall.
With the leaves off the trees
She saw her neighbors with ease.
And then she could record it all.
There once was a writer from St. Paul
Who could only write well in the fall.
With the leaves off the trees
She saw her neighbors with ease.
And then she could record it all.
Filed under 2020, Monday morning writing joke, Poetry by David E. Booker
Tagged as David E. Booker, fall, joke, limerick, Monday, poem, St. Paul, writing humor