Do you have a poetic licence
to park your poor purple prose
(alliteratively he wrote)
it even puts my feet to sleep
and gives me coma toes
(literally did he quote)

and have you paid your syn tax
to persist in pitiful poetry
(a non sequitur perhaps)
as dabbling in scribbling
is how it 'ppears to me
(no storied scripts mere scraps)

before the pen you pick up
or possibly parchment and quill
(pheasant not porcupine)
please procrastinate perchance to ponder
prior to putting out pig in a poke swill
(pearls of wisdom before swine)