by GC SMITH
We
abstract strophes confuse, but then
there is the plain, the concrete poem
We
silly rhymes make for doggerel, but then
there’s always verse that’s free
We
it’s pretentious is what we think, that is
until we find the stuff that's down to earth
We
it’s not for you, not for me, though maybe
it is because we’ve closed our minds
We
are we so sure and if so why is that?
Perhaps, we should give poetry a try
Maybe we could -might like poetry
if the stuff spoke to you -to me
but we gotta take it in to know
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