I'm pressing on with trying to write,
Although I'm unsure that I'm right
To do so as a morning rite
And start the day with rhyming.
For I often line up words,
Gather them into their herds,
While I sit and drop my turds;
I worry for the timing.
Coincidence does not make cause,
But the timing still gives pause,
And plopping is hardly applause;
It's not approval's signing.