For over 40 days I’ve stayed inside,
a senior with a bronchial history,
and every day since this began, I’ve tried
to pen a novel form of poetry.
No sooner do I comprehend the drift
of rules today for meter, length, and rhyme,
than I select tomorrow’s footsome gift.
The project eats its share (and more) of time,
and acts as catalytic brain enzyme.

It’s like a catalytic brain enzyme,
the way the exercise engages gears,
it puts me at my puzzle-solving prime –
no crossword or acrostic grid appears
to challenge me. So now that House Arrest
is going on extension, I’ll as well –
continuing with verse I’ll be less stressed.
As long as I’m sequestered for this spell
I’ll write, but now I’ll title what I tell.