Forgive me, Joyce Kilmer. Inspired by his poem Trees.
I think that I shall never see
A soul befuddled as me.
A poet with a dreary karma
To never understand the comma.
One who ponders and pauses
Each time a line has the clauses.
A poet whose mind nothing gives
When it comes to those conjunctives.
Upon whose sanity rest has fled.
Who is nearly never read.
Poets are loved by angels called Momma.
But only God can love a comma.