A rhyming poem about many a poet's desire versus reality.
|Our poet wished to write a most profound
poem if the proper thoughts could be found,
a piece to proclaim his great intellect,
but all his subjects proved to be suspect.
He sat pondering, searching for the words
to earn him praise, to fly skyward like birds.
Alas, no worthy thoughts traveled his way.
After hours passed, he knew this wasn’t his day.
As he stared at the blank page, a red ant
crawled across its empty space. Since he can’t
abide ants, thinking them a loathsome pest,
our poet did smush it dead with great zest.
He studied the red splotch the dead ant made.
All grand thoughts from his mind quickly did fade.
Ants, roaches, mice, and rats! His mind swarmed with pests.
His poetry writing became a mess.
‘Wait! Perhaps pests have some value for Man.
I might make this profound. Surely I can!
Hmmm, pests-praising poem winning me fame?
Yuck; roaches and rats would be linked with my name!’
Writing poems that win widespread acclaim --
a desire that’s set many hearts aflame,
a destiny that alludes all the rest --
is attained by only the few, the best.
Poetic format: Stanzas of quatrains, with ten syllables per line, end-rhymed couplets, with alliteration emphasized.
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