Yesterday I made a rhyme
That had no rhythm to it
Even before I finished it
I knew for sure I blew it.
The day before I used a word
That I made up to fit
Now when I see the verse
My conscience takes a hit.
Sometimes I put in extra lines
To make things work my way
While other times I don't put in quotes
The things other people say.
Frequently, I write silly things
And other times you see
I find that I have to admit
I'm fraught with verbosity!
Once I wrote a lovely verse
I had remembered from a dream
But once I read it over
It made me want to scream.
I have been known to write and write
Until the day turns into night
But toss most of it away
When I read it at the break of day.
I don't always follow the rules
Forget sometimes the poet's tools
And since the critics that could incense-
Can they take away my poetic license?
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