Today I wrote a poem.
You might not like it as a poem,
But at least poem rhymes with poem,
And it works well for a poem.

Time is all I've gotten.
Though I have not yet forgotten,
How to make poems begotten
And with luck they won't be rotten.

Rhyme is the key -- remember,
One cannot write without an ember
In one's mind that makes November
Christmasy, like 'twas December.

Every good things have to end.
I do not want to make you blend
Thoughts and writings into an
Rhymeless piece of shite.
The end.

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