A poem can be a fancy way
To say a thing well known;
A thing that when presented plain
Is not attention prone;
To take a thought mundane and make
It sweet, romantic or
Just fascinatingly astute,
Is what a poem is for.
And seldom can it cause you pain
That makes you frown or curse,
Digesting thoughts that don’t constrain
The words that make them verse;
Like sitting in a carriage that
Is led by handsome steeds,
Unbridled, wont to gallop at
Unregulated speeds.
But if you chance upon a poem
You cannot understand,
Extending it the courtesy
Of silence would be grand.
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