I think of the strangest things sometimes. This morning while walking to the barn I thought of this poem I wrote for English class. Our teacher sent some of the poems to this state competition. If selected they were put in this book. I had mine somewhere but like a lot of stuff it is lost in time I guess. But anyway, I thought of that poem this morning not very romantic but let me see if I can remember it.
                                                          An Ode to a Piece of Chalk
                                                      There you are little piece of chalk,
                                                       Lying so white and still.
                                                      And when I pick you up,
                                                      You will obey my every will.
                                                      So when I pick you up to write,
                                                      You will do right I trust.
                                                      I like you little piece of chalk,
                                                     That is, all except your dust.
The strangest things we think of.