Sweet melodies, the taste of thyme, Fountains of wine - flowing divine;
And, I were to hope they all would beautifully be mine;
Words to be formed as shapeless clouds, transforming into shapes sublime.
Logic in a poem, can one see?
That'd be meant for Lewis Carol or else, his rabbit'd never flee.
Alice, Alice, what's the time? Eat the cake - one piece at a time.
Oh what nonsense, why whine and dine - what piece of cake, that was'nt mine.
A Haiku, A Terza Rima, A Ballard or A Verse,
A mere thought of writing one, I could never nurse.
Yet, one sultry dusk, inspired by some bore, sitting by the dusty roads, doing some lowly chores.
I pretend to think, and I pretend again, this is my contribution to English Literature, it must not go in vain.
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