A Poem

By
I am not a poem
How dare you call me that.
I don’t call a book home
I don’t talk about a funny cat

Poetry is boring
And boring I am not.
Now it is morning
And you have still not caught

Onto the fact
That I am not a sonnet.
Now what do you lack?
Can't you come upon it?

Upon the thought
That I am no poem
Have you found what I’m naught
Because I will never offer you a scone





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback