Where the rhythm blows

May 16, 2016

I never thought where my poetry started

Maybe just because someone farted,

I doubt it was sir John Procter

Maybe more of a certain Doctor

With the power of Zeus

Making my mind so loose,

Our rhymes sound the same

But who's really to blame

With words so magical like a Wizard

My art had slithered like a Lizard,

His rhythm so catchy

Making mine sound patchy

A man and great idle

And an even greater title,

But that's not all dear boy

Cause he brings all such joy

If that could be me

Oh how happy I would be,

Making families fall off their rockers

Like they did for the Doctor of Doctors

The life of a poets sublime

No matter what the time,

But you don't make the choice

Because the words are the true voice

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