Hot Cross Bun

Hot Cross Bun (Now figure out that title) In poetry will we finally reach a phase When all of our poems truly amaze Ourselves and others reading them In front of fireplace when light is dim. An old Abe sure you don't happen to be Back in those days it was hard to see Things as silence of night was there So they lit a long candle with care. As for me I prefer an electric light And write poems as hard as I might After in my mind a picture they drew When I awoke each one came through. Could be barely in morning or late at night And any temptation off I refused to fight Regardless of way my mind might be going Poems popped out and are all freely flowing. Some poets say that my poems are repugnant Due to being weird and rather redundant I myself find favor with each and everyone And read them while eating a hot cross bun. James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran PS. They don't have a category for sick yet.