So a fit of poetry struck me,
O, a bout of black and blue-
To add colour 'n rhyme to pass the time
And x’mas cheer, from me to you.
Lad, will thou be gallant?
Lass, step forth and show thine hand -
Your knuckle to thy gauntlet
To a challenge, raise the pen.
O any fool may craft an answer
But it takes wit to leave your name
Erstwhile one may wonder
Rest ye begone, or play the game.
Been spending too much time on this thing,
Red in the face, ears beginning to ring.
Astonished by the extra effort these take
To write when one is not fully awake.
Tough, it is, to spit out a rhyme,
I think this game ought to be a crime.
At least I’m near the end of this torment,
This brain of mine can again be dormant.
Thought that this would be a snap,
I found I can’t write rhymes worth crap.
looks at the letters of the OP
Sure you are, sure you are…
It’s takes effort, rhyming in post,
When the urges are to make the most
Of the space provided, causing the brain,
To spew forth blather, shot down th’ drain.
Whether to write of stars in th’ eyes,
Or of yesterday’s sweet cooked pies;
It’s all a game, said th’ man who knows
Which way this will end, how it all goes.
It’s taken in jest, s’where this thread is at,
The place of mundanity, a fireside chat
The secrets of being, or nothing at all,
Who cares? The Wolf still has a ball.