Verses & Thorns

In the realm of verses, where words take flight,
A poet weaves dreams with all their might.
But in this poetic garden so green,
There lurk some creatures not so serene.

Rude comments sprout like prickly thorns,
From poets scorned, with hearts like horns.
They strut about, so bold and snide,
Leaving poets with wounded pride.

"What drivel! What a mess!
Your words are like a keyboard's distress."
They scoff and sneer, with venomous glee,
As if poetry's a joke, just for them to see.

But fear not, dear poets, stand your ground,
For in your verses, strength is found.
To the rude ones, let your words reply,
With wit and humor, don't be shy.

"Ah, my verses may not suit your taste,
But I'll keep weaving with joy and haste.
For poetry's beauty is in the eye,
Of those who appreciate, not those who pry."

So let the rude ones chirp and jeer,
Their comments like a fleeting sneer.
For in this poetic realm so vast,
Kindness and humor will forever last.