I won’t write a novel, though that’s right for some.
I won’t write a story that’s gloomy or glum.
I won’t write a textbook, nor boring outline.
I won’t write my memoir — on that I’ll decline.
Just give me some children, or those young at heart,
Those fond of the childish rhymes I impart.
I’ll sit at my desk and I’ll write the day through,
I’ll write silly thoughts, and I’ll watch them accrue.
So you write your novels, if that’s what you do,
Or scholarly texts, or cerebral world view,
While I write my light-hearted, fun-to-write rhyme,
Then do it again for the ten millionth time.