I once wrote a verse of strange rhyme,
it had no set meter or line;
when an editor read it,
I was thrilled when he said it,
"Oh, your poem is really divine."
I once wrote a verse that was fine,
was perfect in meter and rhyme,
so I thought I'd submit it
and I finally did it,
but I never was paid a thin dime.
I once wrote a cute little ditty,
decided I'd send it to Twitty.
"Hello, darlin'," he wrote,
and it's sad, but I quote:
"Hey, I don't like your song." What a
There lived an old witch in a shack
who kept all her verse in a sack.
When she rode on her broom
like a haggy old loon
she just took it along on her back.
There lived an old man by the sea
who conjured up verse that was free.
"What a pity," he said,
"that this verse won't be read,"
so he threw it away in the sea.
When Heffley said, "Let's write a glosa,"
I quickly responded, "Oh, no-suh;
it befuddles my brain,
and it drives me insane,
and I can't think of nothin' more grossa."
Copyright © 1995 Ruth Gillis
There was a young poet from Maine
who wrote while consuming champagne.
When he sent in his verse
the reply was quite terse
so he vowed not to drink it again.
I know of a poet named Bill
who thinks he can add to his till
by composing some verse
just to fatten his purse,
but I don't think that he ever will.
Copyright © 1997 Ruth Gillis