A Case Of The ‘Rhymes’

By Glenna Wallace Moles © 1984

Issue: January, 1984

Editors Note: Beware! In this issue of The Mountain Laurel, we have different articles with suggestions on how to while away the winter hours. You might take up the hobby of writing poetry, but if you do, beware of the strange illness that might befall you. Blue Ridge poet, Glenna Wallace Moles describes it best in this poem:

I’ve got the “rhymies,”
A terrible curse!
I cannot refrain
From making up verse.

My sleep is disrupted,
My mind is a mess.
My job is affected,
I can’t take this stress!

I’d go to the Doctor,
But he’d only spout;
“Your ‘rhymies’ look terrible,
Let’s cut them out!”

I’d go to the preacher,
But he’d just intone;
“Get down on your knees
And leave ‘rhymies’ alone.”

I’ve put words together
No ending is in store
Until I’ve become
A professional bore.

Will someone please help me,
Cause I’m scared to death,
I’ll be making these “rhymies”
With my dying breath!