Roderick Molasar Poet Quatrain

I Rited a Pome

I rited a pome
While sitting at home
And scratching my dome
With a toothless old comb.

I tried really hard
Out there in the yard
To make a neat rhyme
But it took too much time.

I looked up and down,
I searched left and right.
I felt like a clown 
Whose wig was too tight.

Then down came the rain
And cooled off my brain.
My head had grown hot
From thinking a lot.

At last I could see
No hope there for me.
So I ran back inside
From neighbors to hide.

My mood was so foul
That I started to howl.
Then I kicked at the cat,
Told my wife she was fat.

The divorce went through quick
And I fell very sick.
It was all for my craft;
Close that door, there's a draft.

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