If I wrote my poems for money
I’d be skinny as a rail
My clothes would fit me poorly
And my skin would be quite pale.
I’d have to walk everywhere
Since my car would have no gas
And I couldn’t mow my lawn
Which would grow one foot tall grass.
I might stand on a street corner
With a sign written very good
That I’d show to every driver
With a message,”I’ll rhyme for food.”
But I don’t write poems for money
It’s more like playing with a toy
I share them with other people
With the hope it will bring them joy.
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