I Sat Me Down To Write A Book

I sat me down to write a book,

For Kindle, Google, and the Nook.

My laptop propped between my jean-clad knees.

My spouse gave me the look,

My intentions she mistook.

I donned my grubby clothes for trimming trees.

The leaves and branches I did shook,

Knowing I’d not be off the hook.

My cuttings served to irritate some bees.

Thrice stung, I raced round yard and took,

Screaming words, all gobbledygook.

I’ll not mention them today, if you please.

My sweetie thought I was a crook,

Disrupting her while trying to cook.

Alas, she thought I attempted my best tease.

It would be a rare nor’ cold chinook,

Before she let me near my book.

She kept me outside like a rare disease.

Finally, her wrath forsook,

Mercy on her love she took.

Better writing than trimming, she agrees.