Owlthief

          It was noon when I heard the faint crunch of gravel on the drive. I thought it odd that Maxim would be on time; I’ve never known him to be a punctual man. I walked outside just as the car was pulling up.          Maxim got out first. He looked rather relieved to return home—extremely relieved. I chuckled to myself that one could grow so homesick—even during his honeymoon. He walked round to the far side of the car and opened the door. I stopped midbreath. Emerging from the car was the most glorious raven-haired angel I’d ever laid eyes on. I affected a coughing fit in order to hide the crimson that I knew was s

The Writer is a curious breed One idea is all they need Like a plant, they let it grow And wait for the lines to flow Paper found, the pen flies Thoughts flash across their eyes They'll write two drafts- three, or four- It's easy for them to do  hundreds  more. If there's one thing that writers hate (The bane of their lives, they often state) It's the thing that they most often make- The common-or-garden SPELLING MISTAKE! These evil creatures are ugly and cruel- They make the best writers look like a fool! They like to mock, they like to hide In fancy words they often bide The writers decided to take no more- On the mistakes