A Muse Or Amusing

A MUSE – OR AMUSING? You say that you love my poetry; You tell me all the time. My syllable count is perfection, You’ve been seduced by my rhyme. When you introduce me to your friends, You refer to me as your ‘bard’. But although that’s rather flattering, There’s one thing I’m finding hard. It’s one thing waxing lyrical About my poetry. But I’m longing for that day I hear You say that you love ME! Suppose I lost my rhythm And my rhyming pattern was wrong? What if my number of syllables clashed With “Howmanysyllables dot com”? Would you still love me for what I am Or would you be averse To live with a mere mortal Who couldn’t compose a verse?