My Friend Sharon

The poems I wrote since I took pen
Were liberated from rhyme and rhythm;
Though I knew how to do it then,
I wanted nothing to do with 'em.

And then I read the poems she wrote,
So perfect in their rhyme and meter,
She ate my lunch, she got my goat,
And I felt I had to beat her!

So I put on my poet's bonnet,
Sat down with thought and pen in hand,
And wrote my first iambic sonnet—
What a rush it did command!

My fingers counted out the beat,
As words and thoughts and rhymes poured out,
I almost fainted from the heat,
I almost felt the need to shout!

But then an errant thought crept in,
Here I was chock full of poetry!
There was no need to fight and win,
Or engage in fancy oratory!

So, dear Sharon, my thanks sincere,
I will be a grateful mutt;
It is your due I'm writing here,
You've gotten me off my lazy butt!

© Phil Hodgkins 2002

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