A Shovelful of Writers

A Shovelful of Writers
A lesser known sonnet – well, it has fourteen lines anyway.

A light hearted article in The Lady on collective nouns just last night,
Gave me to muse on a word for all of the groups of persons who write.
Volume, dictionary, lexicon, thesaurus, spell-check and other book words, all erudite,
Like verse, couplet, quatrain, sonnet, stanza, ghost-write, iambic pentameter and of course recite.
Not a one of the hundreds of words I considered even began to excite
me, and book, paragraph, sentence, phrase and clause, all seemed clumsy and trite,
And as I paused, I wondered would I ever find a noun to set me alight?
A chapter of writers seemed better, and clever and bright,
But decidedly cultist and a long way from right.
My thoughts flit about seeking a new tack to shed light
On my problem, but inspiration was dead or else suffered the blight.
A quill or a nib, a Biro, a pen, or maybe a keyboard of those who write,
and then, to my amazement I found le mot juste, to my great delight,
An evocation of writers, perfect, doubly suggestive, and very polite.



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This story is 193 words long.