If I Were A Poet

If I Were A Poet

If I were a Poet,
I wouldn’t be here now;
Trying oh so desperately
To not rhyme now with cow.

I’d babble on of sunsets,
Of love and being true;
If only I could think of words
To rhyme except poo-poo.

I wouldn’t bear the burden
Of purloin and sirloin;
Or craft and waft and walking staff,
Or the coin that’s in my groin.

My words would flow like honey,
Instead of nasal drip;
And I would stun my audience
With my intellectual quip…

Yes, if I were a poet,
I’d be a happy lass;
But I am not a poet
So you can kiss my ass!