There is a wicked problem in my life,
sort of small and insignificant on the whole,
slightly annoying, just an snag in the road.
Like a pebble in one shoe,
a branch on my path.
It's like rain pouring down,
when you are twenty feet from your door.
Like the wrong kind of sauce
in your freshly baked lasagna.
It is a wicked problem even more so,
when it feels and is resolvable.
YOU ARE READING
The Notebook rambles
PoesíaIntroducing the first (and earliest) of this notebook writers pickings of so-called poetry. Verses about love, sadness, thoughts on the world and some introspection. Might include dreamy escapism to nature, teenage/young adult notions of romance and...
