An Ancient Poet's Muse, Just a Playing

An Ancient Poet's Muse, Just A Playing Snow outside, was whitest white, so I wrote Cream and butter, sisters on fine tables. Sang I, out of tune, nobody took note Now sure, there are true heroes in fables. Rain outside, was wettest wet, so I penned Coffee and donuts, brothers in pleasing. Cried I, cast thee that hard stone, I have sinned Not really, just old poet teasing! Sleet outside, was coldest cold, so I spun Bake me no pies, I tell thee no true lies. Screamed I, no fresh bread, too tired to run Why such downpours from big belching skies? Snow outside, was whitest white, so I wrote Ancient poet's words, hope thee took kind note! Robert J. Lindley, 1-08-2017 Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 Total # Syllables: 140 Total # Words: 112