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A Baby For Poetry
The pen is my rattle
and I am the baby,
pacifier of words,
a soothing write? maybe.
After it all comes out
I may need a change,
some of my words
I may need to rearrange.
Poetry is my challenge,
it can make me cry,
a bottle for my thoughts,
I'll give it a try.
A loss for words,
limited use of rhyme,
ready for a burp,
pooped all the time.
Worn out and tired,
I rub my eyes,
time for a nap
and poetry "Why's?"
My poetry is simple,
I spit it up too easy,
I'll keep on trying,
it will keep me busy.
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A Baby For Poetry
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