For an immature poet like me the rhyme
Becomes the greatest crime
I want to write a poem on a piece of soap
Or the greatness of the Italian Pope
I talk about the faithfulness of a pet dog
Or the great utility of a school bag
I can write a poem on a match stick
Since I feel, for poetry there is no yardstick
Somebody thinks my poetry is rather Awkward
I can no longer go any forward
He feels my poetry is meant for un-schooled
I don’t think I am even a bit fooled
He opines my poems are mere mush
And I am making unnecessary fuss
In fact I am very much cooled
Because I think I am correctly ruled