O! Poem that spoke of a man who croaks,
were you not my own, I would quote you!
I would think that whomever composed you smokes dope,
but I know it ain’t so, ’cause I wrote you.
Which poet is it, that constructed you, Ode?
‘Twas myself! Though I scant deserve credit.
For a poem’s not a poem ‘less it stands on its o’en
through my 50 neurotic edits.
And forget let us not, the post-poem note!
Doleful lament upon poem just wrote,
pensively telling of muse that had flo’en.
Though reader, perhaps, was just glad poem was do’en.
