Inspired by the shortest novel ever written, a six word story attributed to Hemingway, I have finally penned the penultimate poem (say that three times fast). My magnum opus. A single-word poem encompassing life, the universe and everything [pan to Douglas Adams turning in his grave].
Having previously unraveled the sound of one hand clapping, my focus is now on solving the conundrum of a single word rhyming. Here’s my poem (and no, it’s not 41 or 43, because that would be silly):
O.k., It doesn’t rhyme and is a bit depressing, but it does convey life’s propensity to just… keep… pounding on us.
For those of you in need of closure, here’s Hemingway’s story (my poem is less depressing, btw):
For sale: baby shoes, never worn.