Long ago when my mother asked me
"What do you like?"
I replied "words, stories, and all things alike,"
This shook the poor woman in certain disarray
For she did not expect me that to say
But you see, my dear friends,
Shel Silverstein's stories stirred up a commotion
Of thoughts and feelings not yet set into motion
There was something set in this poetry
That would not escape my mind fleetingly
Then one day I picked up a pen
And scrawled a few stanzas into the sand
Of this metaphorical beach I cannot say
But since that day I have gone the distance
To begin my illustrious journey
Of bringing grand poetry into existence