Here I sit in the middle of these words
That say they’d like to rhyme
Yet never offer any suggestions
Of how it is to be
Should I make something up to appease them?
Why should I do the work?
If they were good words as they seem to say
They’d fall in line just so
Line after line goes on without a rhyme
This isn’t poetry!
Ah, yes it is! Poems don’t have to rhyme
There is “free verse”, you know?
Not satisfied they sit and stare at me
Words with a grand mission
Spin the clock or stir the pot – just do it!
Anxious little words too
There are more words now gathering around
I feel the pressure grow
What to write to make all of them happy?
Oh, my! I just don’t
know
