“`Tis poetry,” said the silly turds
As babbled they about their verse.
All whimsical, their Hallmark words
Did make the subject worse.
“Beware the metaphor,” said one,
“It isn’t needed for our lines.
Beware the simile, it’s like-
Ly to mess up our minds!”
Their selves full of hyperbole
They disregarded spelling, rhyme.
Their “pomes” were built in verse so free
That meter was a crime.
Who cared if no one understood?
Their work was art! Their work was great!
What matter if words left unheard
Just cluttered up their fate?
“And is the audience asleep?
Come, read your doggerel, my pet.
If no one hears your cloudy words
Then no crime you’ll commit.”
“`Tis poetry,” said the silly turds
As babbled they about their verse.
All whimsical, their Hallmark words
Did make the subject worse.
