Regardless
Regardless
Regardless of what they are all about
Will write poems until fingers wear out
That in my head were in for a while
And some still don't appreciate my style.
My many poems may mostly be rubbish
But few in newspaper they would publish
I had been chirping like a little canary
While reading my lovely ones in a library.
Instead of making waves and much static
And at times appearing to be quite erratic
For myself I will write many, many more
Being it is I who them all do adore.
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