Annie Size

When Annie Size received her prize, she knew that she had won;
yet she would have to keep it mum and not tell anyone.
She had the urge to then emerge and shout out with amen;
but then she realized that it could spell the bitter end.

So Annie Size just rolled her eyes and kept it to herself;
she took the prize out of the box and put it on the shelf.
As day lost light she felt uptight and leaned against the wall;
yet she made sure she braced herself, or otherwise she’d fall.

Annie reclined at ten to nine and listened to some news;
but she was thinking of her prize and simply could not snooze.
So she got up and made a cup of Silver Needle tea;
then after she had finished it, she felt this odd ennui.

For Annie’s glance at happenstance was usually upbeat;
but feeling bored and discontent made Annie not so sweet.
So Annie sought to find a thought on how she could recharge,
and do away with sour-she who now remained at large.

She went unto the shelf at two--again to see her prize;
she took it with her and walked back with sleep grained in her eyes.
By her nightstand she took her hand to wipe a humid brow,
and with her other hand retained the grip on here and now.

As Annie dosed, a dream disclosed a habit long ago;
the morning sky dawned full of clouds and that seemed apropos.
As Annie dressed she then confessed that she felt overwrought;
for she could not tell anyone, but telling was her thought.

The day went on and she was drawn to think of what she had;
she cogitated secret thoughts and didn’t feel so bad.
Frustration formed just like a storm when she was used to none;
but now she felt much more at ease in rays of evening sun.

Back snug and sound she looked around at all her quaint decor;
then good vibrations held the night, and she would welcome more.
She held it tight into the night, relieved of her torment;
so satisfied with peace of mind saw Annie quite content.


[Rhythm: 14] (Lines: 32)
Writer’s Cramp; February 6, 2012