God Said Glory Be

God Said Glory Be Why do everything I always try to rhyme And not only that, it is all the time; When I first get up and eyes open wide In my big brain, I saw a poem inside. My poor poems have nothing to hide; Are in me all going along for the ride Waiting for chance to be written down; Called Horn Corncob Humor all over town. What my exquisite poems need is an escort By a Pilot reporter who writes at State Port And after a while he or she will realize If in Pilot may win a Pulitzer Peace Prize. So to all the facts I have become resigned One more poem just pooped into my mind; Do you know what someone has told me? God said, "Your poems are great and glory be." James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran www.poetrysoup.com www.story-telling-around-the-world.com