I was glancing through my dictionary when
I heard a chuckle.
It was the entry ‘automatic’ who was snickering at me.
I knew the reason.
Everything about my writing is so stilted, so forced,
Despite my deep wish to make it an automatic, instinctive process!
The moon too sneers at the partridge that fancies her.
I pretended I hadn’t heard her, and promptly turned the page.