I’ve tried many hobbies of all kinds of crafts,
Yet there’s only a few I’ve acquired,
Cause’ in all of those pass times, though really, I try,
They do leave things to be desired.
My photos are failures, in any light,
There’s much too much smoke when I cook,
My drawings and paintings, could make Bob Ross cry,
But I’m always at home in a book.
Origami somehow ends up a creased, crumpled mess,
My sewing is sloppy x 10,
My calligraphy is a calamity,
But I’m clever, with paper and pen.
My skating’s disgraceful, on wood or on ice,
Snails laugh at the speed of my sprint,
But I manage outdoors, camping in the woods,
Start a fire with steel and with flint.
If I try making bracelets, or cookies, or cards,
I always end up messing up the lot,
If I try to attempt any kind of crochet,
I’ll end up weaving a Gordian knot.
You’d think that the mayhem and mishaps and mess-ups,
Would surely show me to the door,
But at the end of the day, I smile, unfazed,
Cause’ I can’t wait to find and try more.