When I look into a poets mind
Normality alas has been left far behind

A jumbled mass of words and thoughts
Like Ghandi on holiday in a pair of lycra shorts

It’s my job to assess and try to mend the pain
But a poet it seem likes the aura of the insane

So ill listen politely and smile at the right time
Then tell the mad poet everything will be fine

Now when they are gone and their words I read
Such a sad lament makes my heart sadly bleed

Not for the poet alas it’s too late
But for the next poor person they ask out on a date