The first line is the powerful greeter
You see it should set the poem’s meter.
He set off writing in pentameter
At that was his own diameter
Or did he really mean parameter
Bugger, he felt like such an amateur.
His lines were never very long
His mind just wasn’t all that strong
And lost amidst poetic throng
Perhaps they equated to boring song.
But yet the pen moves over page
And words flow over lines like age
And though they’re never really sage
He does his best to you engage.
©Joe Wilson – Utter whimsy…2016