There are those who like their poetry
to dance with tender grace
and others’d rather take it rough
and gat jack-slapped in the face
The words can dance and weave and flow
like the slightest summer breeze
or stagger like a drunken man
and fall down on their knees
It matters not which you prefer
they'll come how ‘ere they come
As Orpheus strums his lyre so sweet
or Ringo bangs his drum
They meet the ears they’re ‘sposed to meet
Each nestled in the heart
one gently whispers “I love you”
the other’s a loud fart
😳😜😂
