There are some People, who, from time to time,
Pour all there feelings into Rhythm,
They tell all and sundry about the day they’ve had,
Like if it turned out quite good, or just damn-awful bad.
They’ll lay it all out at the cost of a pen,
It can make you have doubts about the marbles of Men.
For ‘To wander lonely as a Cloud’,
I’d think his Parents weren’t very proud.
And for ‘Being compared to a Summer’s day’,
Could he not earn his ‘Bread’ another way.
Burns even composed some Verse to a Mouse,
Instead of laying Traps around his a Plague ridden house.
Some tell of Love and all it’s joys,
When they should all be out
Carousing with the Boys.
John Wilmot penned some ‘filthy
mush,
The likes of which, would make a
‘Docker’ blush.
And those that write of ‘The Horrors of War’,
What do they think the ‘10 O’clock News’ is for.
And don’t get me started on ‘Nonsense Verse’,
For its enough to make a Blood Monitor burst.
But call your Doctor very soon,
If you see a Cow jump over the Moon.
Now the ‘Bronte’ girls it has been said ‘
Were waxing-lyrical not long out of bed.
And Elizabeth the First did write the odd poem,
So it’s no surprise she was sleeping alone.
So enough of it all, I’ll say once again,
It’s getting to much and there’s nothing to gain.
As personally myself I would consider it a crime,
If I ever put these feelings onto pages in Rhyme.