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If I could make those magic words appear,
like that poet, Barry Clopton Lanier.
Perfect words that through a heart sears,
like many mighty spears.
If I knew correct English like that girl,
a writer called Esther Spurrill.
But I have the pea brain of a squirrel,
and my quotations won't swirl.
If I could make love a magical fairy,
like that poet Lyle Barry.
The truth so powerful it's darn right scary,
reveal a pigs fear inside a dairy.
Make words upon a page mingle,
send the reader a little tingle.
Write the cutest little jingle,
like that poet Janice Engle.
Make words across paper smoothly play,
like that poet Julie Ray.
Oh what a happy, happy , day,
but my words won't walk that way.
Turn ones heart to pure jelly,
like that poet Kay Lee Kelly.
I would feel pride in my belly,
filled by a poetic deli.
If my brain ever thinks,
like that poet Jackie Jinks.
But often my thoughts stinks,
cause my brain is on the brinks.
Every poet has a place their words belong,
whether they are weak or strong.
I found mine a little space,
in just the perfect place.
On the rocks down to my fishing hole,
ryhming reminders not to trip and break my pole.
I wrote,
Don't stumble over this large boulder,
or I will have a cast on my shoulder.
Don't trip on this slippery stone ,
or I am sure to break a bone.
One last little rhyme,
to remind me to bring extra hooks and line.
My word's may never gallantly appear,
in books like some great poets here.
But on the rocks along the creek,
they make my fishing hole easier to seek.
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