Silly Poesies

I’ve turned my back on poetry,
And still it will not let me be.
These rhymes and couplets fill my brain,
And linger on like old rust stains.

I try my hand at writing prose,
And my frustration only grows.
Bedeviled by this wretched curse,
I cannot help but think in verse.

I blame it all on Mother Goose,
and her accomplice, Dr. Seuss.
The two of them, they marked me well,
and left me at the gates of hell.

Despite my efforts to persist,
I can’t complete my grocery list.
I close my eyes and heave a sigh,
because nothing rhymes with orange.