Customary

A mishmash of words I try,

A poem among them, I spy.
Not a single day goes by,
When I don’t with words ply.

Days when in a deluge fall,
With words, I then have a ball,
Other days, I cajole and call,
Even then they seem to stall.

Satisfaction comes at the end,
When the rhymes all blend,
And slowly the verse does distend,
And, next one will impend.