There\'s a poet in my cabinet,
And at times he shows up,
Drinks up all my liquor,
And is on my bed, throwing up.
There\'s a poet in my cabinet,
So lost, and in despair,
He turns dead flowers into beauty,
His poetic powers, so rare.
There\'s a poet in my cabinet,
He doesn\'t want to come out,
During the times where I need him,
He refuses and pouts.
There\'s a poet in my cabinet,
And alas he reappears!
Bursting with creativity,
Ready to shoot it like a spear.
He holds my hand and runs,
And jumps with glee !
Grabs my journal and my pen,
As he stares at up at me,
There\'s a moment of tranquility,
Yet a burst of creativity,
I begin to write,
I finish,
I read it,
Poetry.