eetsy eetsy, tiny feetsy
in the attic dark and creepy
who could be there? Looking at me
Is it Procyon Lotor?

He comes watching every winter
will he really dare to enter?
Enter at my chamber door
Seeking mischief as before?

Comes the creature wild of feature
Fuzzy furry in a hurry
looking for me wanting near me
Only this and nothing more

                         **

Will they hate me and berate me
loving Rhyme the way I do?

Poetaster they will call me
Death, disaster pray befall me

I will be the way I will be
always 'till the end of time so
You can hate me all you want to
You have your way, I'll have mine


Poetry by definition

A highly developed form and
use
of heightened language and rythm
to express an imaginative
interpretation
of the subject