This poem is one I wrote at least seven years ago, but I always liked its whimsicality.
I’m horrible at writing rhyming poetry.
I tried it once and failed, you see.
I climbed many an eloquent tree
To grab that elusive singsong soliloquy.
Matching tails of verses evaded
Yet my breath was always bated
I pined and counted hours and waited
For a muse–my writing to be aided.
At last, long cloud-covered day ended
My wordsmith spirit undefended
A rhyme on paper was thus pended
Until dawn, from sleep I was up-ended…
And in the face of sun that shines,
I found, written in my hand, these lines
What grace from Euterpe this page divines
Maybe I can rhyme sometimes.