If words were jellybeans on burnt toast,
I'd eat them raw, a bag at most,
I'd share them with my neighbour's ghost,
Who lives in a barn that smells.

If punctuation was a warrior's code,
With secret meanings meant to implode,
I'd message you before I explode,
My last words are I love you.

If definitions were a secret chant,
I'd yak all night about Emmanuel Kant,
The meaning of life my boring rant,
And I have puddles for shoes .

Please forgive and never forget,
A poet at play has no regrets,
Smiling, happy, a marionette,
I'll share my donuts with you.