Onto the glassy stage, she skips,
The spotlight falling on her face,
The disgraceful lady poet,
she left her words at home, not very nice
She thought maybe an ad-lib,
would perhaps suffice,
Her thinking cap on backwards,
Her words not very bright,
Developed a canny condition,
A.k.a. stage fright,
She turned to jelly on the stage,
The spotlights so contorting,
her visage of nervousness,
Her face and body melted.
She was under too much duress,
A puddle on her spoken stage,
Good heavens,
What a mess she left.
That poor lady of poetry.
(C) Livvi