I picked up my pencil
And sat down to write
I had nothing to say, for
I’m not very bright.

But that didn’t stop me
I needed a Pome
I needed to scribble
A life-changing tome.

I sweated a little.
I crossed out a lot.
I hoped it was brilliant.
I sensed it was not.

I read the New Yorker
Their poems are obscure
I may write only drivel
But my meaning is clear.

So now I am finished.
I’ll read it and you
Then go get a pencil-
Be a famed poet too.
           ljm