14 November, 2008
Poetry schmoetry, out the mind
Is burdensome, as some will find.
We know what's what, and what's our kind.
Words spew forth, a drip, drip, drip.
Into our cups, we're forced to sip.
Just one a week is all I need,
But it's not so, I'm forced to feed.
Please spare us all
This burdensome gall.
Let us party at the ball!