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.