This poetry thing is not working today.
I’m trying much too hard,
And agonizing over adjectives.
My metaphors are dusty,
My alliteration rusty.
I can’t seem to invoke the Bard.
Every word is like a grain of sand.
Pearls of Wisdom should be grand.
Oysters are “seeded” they say,
And will force a perfect pearl.
The Muse must be sleeping today.
At the very least, she’s missed.
After such a rude intrusion,
The poor oysters must be pissed.
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