I think I'm a poet,
at least I try to show it,
so others might know it.
I go by the name Onepoet.
I don't put much time in my verse,
this poeming seems to be a curse.

Sometimes I write a lot of junk,
some try to put me with the skunk.
Others say my poetry is good,
so I guess I'd better knock on wood.
I treasure my junk,
try too perfume up the skunk.

Sometimes it still stinks,
but on I inks,
after I finish my thinks.
Writing too me is a pleasure,
one which I try to measure.
But I'm running out of tape,
still there is no escape.

One