Not the Card Game

Once upon a rhyme,

I fell for a scroll

–not the dead Sea kind–

who

tip-tapped

tip-tapped

her way

into my heart

which grew like a Grinch

around Christmas

until 3

diss’s

times a thousand–

altered placement

a change no

pumpkin-turned-coach

could correct

only the scroll herself

could re’right outcome

–a shift she attempted

by furling

a rookie mistake

by pointing

so rued

and good ole’ misdirection

she got lost; a problem on accounta’ a low-carb diet—

until one day, that scroll

added pages–

pages & pages of brand new

storyline

she’d resisted

at least thrice—

since scroll had always worked autonomously in

antiquated tower, lacking even the most fundamental cell reception

a storyline

–as old as it was new—

including bit players,

and background,

subtext

and sojourn,

beginning in the middle

and branching out

–side to side—

scroll became a book

without artifice

but plenty of made-believe—

which cover intrigued

and hid nothing all

at once

. . .

upon

a

rhyme.

About Charron's Chatter

I bring to you an arrow, whole, Use it, or break it, But if you choose to take it --Know-- With it also, I will go. © Karen Robiscoe @1992

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