Gershon Wolf Poet Rhyme

I Sing Praises to My Name

  
               My rhythm is just awful
                    my rhyming’s out of sorts
                As I light each poem’s tail
                    I hope that it aborts

                 Iambic pentameter
                    speaks not to my heart
                 Perhaps that is one reason                           
                     critics tear me apart

                 I’ve served my time: waited tables
                    washed cars, begged for money
                 Yet my poetry presents indifferently
                    worst of all ~ it ain’t even funny

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John Lawless August 14, 2026 at 6:02 AM HERE, HERE!!! BRAVO.....ENCORE.....toss some fruit....he may want it with his cereal....tis better to be cursed by oneself than praised by the minions.