I learned my poetry when I was six,
At age sixty-six I gave it a fix.
Switching to English from Hungarian,
My words became very pedestrian.
Once upon a time they used to have glow
They now just crawl about; travelling slow.
I write my poetry just to kill time,
I kill the language, the meter and rhyme.
Murdering the language gives me a thrill,
I’m a dentist; I have licence to kill!
© P. J. Oszmann (2004)