The holiday gift shopping is underway. Santa’s naughty-and-nice list is open. Baking ingredients are collecting in the cupboard. The festive holiday attire hangs in the closet. The family calendar is filling up. And Christmas preparations are beginning to pile up.
Something’s gotta give.
Just yesterday, weathering the Black Friday crowds for a not-so-quick stop at Target, my teen and I left the store one shopping bag short.
I just don't get it. Perhaps I am delayed. I just don't get it. A five-chore list I've made. I just don't get it. The edges, they are frayed. I just don't get it. My focus, it has strayed.
I just don't get it . . . done.
The triolet is a popular poetic form with a well-defined structure. This traditional eight-line poem, penned in iambic pentameter, contains four couplets and follows this rhyme scheme: ABaAabAB. Usually, the 1st, 4th and 7th lines match – as do the 2nd and 8th lines.
My triolet departs from this pattern somewhat. Hey, call it poetic license.