I know you've been waiting to hear how writing group went last night. (Did I cry again this time when I got home?) No. I wised up. I took two pieces, one poem and one prose. The poem, although it did rhyme, was esoteric––and I'm pretty sure no one understood it. Success!
I have a little parakeet
Her name’s Epiphanie.
She likes to play and make a mess
She tries to talk to me.
The things she says
Are quite a hoot
Her words most often
My little bird must think it queer
I shut her up when she is near
The things she says are so absurd
I’m much too busy for a bird.