TITLE: A Poem By Clyde Blakely 03/23/07 |
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A Poem
By Clyde J. Blakely
When I was just a little wee,
My Mama used to always tell me,
That I was a poet
But sure didn’t know it.
Now I’m about to prove it.
So please don’t fidget.
I hated when the teacher call
Right in front of the class all
To give that meaning to a poem
Oh, how I wish I had stayed home.
Why does she always pick on me?
Who cares what color he saw the tree?
Trees are green, aren’t they?
Then why is poetry always grey?
Am I really that dumb?
Not to hear that stupid drum?
Is it really a crime
Not to be able to rhythm?
I try my best
To pass the test
But the best I could do
Is the one I wrote just for you –
Roses are red
Violets are blue
I am a poet
And so are we, thank you.
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