I wish I had the ease with words
Of all those famous poets
Then every time I had a thought
I could most clearly show it
My rhyming schemes sometimes work out
The ways that I intend them
But others leave me feeling “meh”
Especially how I end them
I told my wife about my plight
And she addressed this curse
“The problem is,” she said to me
“You always write in verse”
“I think if you expressed yourself”
“Not bound by rhyme or meter”
“You’d have a lot more latitude”
“And things might sound much sweeter”
“Like this?” . . .
. . . I said, afraid of where
This sort of thing might head
I near uncharted territory
With an awful sense of dread
“If you had to, you could,” she said,
“So don’t turn orange”
And with just one word, my wife
Forced me out of my comfort zone
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