A poet shy shuffled into my office
She placed her poem on my desks farthest corner
This is my very best work, said she timidly
I looked it up and down nerveously
This will certainly die, said i
She looked me up and down nerveously and began to cry
And sprinted out the door
What a waste i thought of this "poet"

Another day a poet very mad swaggered into my nook
He ****** his poem at my feet
This is my very, very, best work, said he loudly
I peered at it very briefly
This is very, very, bad
He lingered briefly and with hardly a friendly word
And swaggered out
I had nothing nice to think of this "poet"

But just today a poet kind, a poet clever walked into my home
He put his poem into my hand
this is my favorite work said he kindly, cleverly
I read it through calmly
This is my favorite too said i
He shook my hand and thanked me calmly and walked out the door
That is a true poet i thought