Poems, poems, poems. There’s no one else like you.
Always written like a code, whether rhyming or haiku.
Like a secret message, you keep me always thinking.
My brain is working hard. The fumes are kind of stinking.
There’s a story hiding behind you, but I just can’t seem to find it.
Sometimes I search and search, but I feel like I’ve been blinded.
Your rhyming words and structured stanzas distract me from your teachings.
Sometimes I don’t want to listen, for they sound like preachings.
Sometimes I cannot find the words that describe the way I feel.
Old Webster and I sometimes make a deal.
Your rhyme and rhythm are sometimes haunting,
And the task of writing you can be a little daunting!
Oh, poems, poems, poems. Poetry is an art!
I did not realize this, but now I’m going to start.
Famous authors can inspire you, or even make you sad,
But my attempt at this was really, really bad!