Be it that simple rhyme given to the first friend
The classic ”Roses are red, violets are blue…”
Or on the finest parchment that can be penned
With a method and grace that evokes much ado
Poetry is the verbiage that traces the path of a setting sun ray
Whose impression lasts long after the indigo eve holds sway
We don’t deny that amphigory can crack a mighty smile
Cooling off the sensual steam from a sexy free-verse mix
Metaphor and imagery are just a part of a poem’s style
Though it glitters it’s not silver, is one of its many tricks
Mighty words can pool one’s anger enough to shake the rafter
Or fill a pool with gut wrenching tears if that’s what it’s after
Some say the true crux of a poem’s job is to entertain
It’s a bonus if a lesson happens to be learned
Poorly or very well done, both can bring much gain
And even the rich know its value is not in dollars earned
For when all is said and done, pens down, books close, lips seal
All one mostly remembers of a poem is how it makes one feel
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