There's poetry inside of me.
It struggles - trying to break free
To make it's home upon this page.
To poetry, my brain's a cage!
The pressure from inside's intense.
The words pace round and don't make sense.
They charge the bars and fling and fall -
And don't get anywhere at all.
I 'spose I've not the poet's heart
Or else I'd know the way to start
Nor poet's ear, nor poet's eye
Nor poet's mind, for though I try
The words stay balled up in a heap;
They ruin lunch, invade my sleep.
They pace and charge - it just gets worse.
Oh! Look at me! I penned a verse!