Who Would Be A Poet?

Tell me, who would be a poet? Just think what it entails... And we know we'll sometimes blow it, For every writer fails... To think, that when we're feeling down, We write to raise a smile, But then we often have to frown, Restricted by some style... Eight syllables, then six below, That's how I try to write... Eight syllables to match the flow Then six to keep it light... So pretty soon verse three's arranged Before the poem's done And then verse four gets somewhat changed, But don't tell anyone! Some names get swapped and switched around, Some placenames, too, replaced... And suddenly an ending's found And that has to be phrased... My, my, it's like a Mystory Tour! All jumbled jolly stuff, With heartfelt tales of sweet amour And that weird thing called lurv... For thirty years, I've typed and typed And typed and typed again... I've either griped or else I've hyped And emptied every pen... The Writing Bug's still bugging me... And yet how much I owe it! Except no sweetheart's hugging me! So who would be a poet! ? Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2011.