In threes they approach, these days of labor.
Thrice we fall below, and thrice we ascend.
Pigeons lose their way in clouds of vapor.
Shall I consider mercy thrice to lend?
Then on my worst Spanish I must depend
The skills I’ve built to these six lines to mend.
And that’s enough attempted poetry for today. I am quite pleased with the forward movement I made yesterday. I wrote over three thousand words and finished a milestone of my freelance project. I had a great day.
Now I’m free for a little while to write just for myself, and that’s a terrific reward.