The Orange Pen

You'll find that many of the poems I write are the product of boredom. This one, for instance, was written on my mission, waiting in a parking lot in Northern Maine to be picked up by another set of sisters so we could drive down to Manchester, New Hampshire for a mission wide conference. This one was particularly memorable, because we would be receiving iPads.

While waiting in said parking lot, I pulled out a piece of paper, turned to my companion, and said, "Give me something to write about." And she said, "Write about the color orange for Sister Davis."

So this poem is dedicated to Sister Chelsea Davis, on her birthday, and to her obsession with the color orange.

The Orange Pen

I have this orange pen,

I use it all the time.

This orange pen is named Ken, 

and Ken knows how to rhyme.

Ken is a swell friend;

I can trust him with my life.

The rules he never bends

even when he's holding a knife.

Ken the orange pen is swell

and he knows how to rhyme.

But sometimes he can't do so well

because nothing rhymes with orange.

P.S. This is probably the greatest plot twist in the history of poetry.

photo credit: Google Images