“Write a poem,” teacher said.
“For each of you, without a doubt,
has one at least within your head.
So write it down and get it out.”

‘What if you’re wrong’, I thought.
‘What if there’s no poem in me.
What if there is but it’s not ready
for the world’.

“It doesn’t have to rhyme”, she trilled.
“Just put your feelings into words.
Start off with one, then slowly build.
Make use of adjectives and verbs.”

‘Just because you have
bricks and mortar,
trowels and a wish,
doesn’t mean you can
build a house’.

“Come, come. Your time is almost done.
I want your papers in by break.
A verse, at least, from everyone,
creative muse with no mistakes.”

I handed in my paper blank
but for the title.
‘Today, My Soul Was Sleeping’.