A poem that rhymes (the worst type )

I wandered through the furry glen

Those sticky balls were everywhere 

I had an itch with out a scratch

A poem without a theme

A song without a tune 

A love with out a lust 

A flower without a stem

Purple mixed with yellow 

Green with black and blue

The valley deep 

The mountain high

The song sad

The singer mad 

The poet quite bad 

For three rhymes in a row

Just to make the lines flow

The end is nigh 

The theme never found 

The cuckoo nest’s buzz

Is waiting to shock

The phone is drunk

It’s time for a book 

(C) Francie Mcgivney 


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s