Teen Ink

   Silvery pools and other clich"s

Flood my disgust, they haunt my days

And nights until I cannot find

Anything but an almost-rhyme.

And you, my dear, whom I seek to describe,

Are only pleased by words of the scribes

Which are spewed forth with ease

Of a newborn's vomit. I cannot please,

I cannot give in, but I will try

To create an account of your eyes:

Silvery pools of - well, I do not know.

Suffice to say, they're like new fallen snow.

And so to the end I'll no longer delay,

although I don't know of a fitting clich".