A hapless Lit student named Brandon,
Was researching Death of a Salesman;
He Googled then ogled
What Hap Loman called Strudel,
Then choked on his oral exam.

If I were to write you
A love poem
(this is only hypothetical),
So, let's pretend,
Like poets do.
Would you fit inside
The confines of a sonnet:
No, you're more free,
More like a breeze.
You're not ballad-like;
Though you could be
With those alluring green eyes.
I'd work on an ode
But you don't like heights.
We're not close enough for couplets, yet.
Free verse sounds like a fine fit.
You may end up being a muse someday
If I get the hang of it.
Most certainly when our elegy's written.