In a bowl, a salad of words,

Is poetry, mostly for the birds,

Of words a conglomeration,

Thoughts, spoken & not,

Together without much formation…
 

Lasting only as long as it is perused,

Greatly abused,

Sometimes bruised,

Abused, accused, a lot confused,

For this waste of your time, I hope I will be excused…

So many words, so little rhyme,

Used, it must or must not in a certain time,

There for the readers interpretation,

In some he’ll find admiration,

In others mayhap salvation,

Some find words give them frustration…

© ed 2/13/09