Commas

Commas

I think that I shall never see
A poet befuddled as me.

A poet with a dreary karma
To never understand the comma;

A poet that thinks and pauses
Each time a twist has the clauses;

A poet whose mind nothing gives
When he comes to those conjunctives;

Upon whose sanity rest has fled;
Who is nearly never read.

Poets are done by angels called Momma
But only God can do a comma.