She Is No Poet - But A Poem

I thought that I would never find a better poet with a mind that works in strange but fertile fields and throws at us the stuff it yields but then you came into my life you stuck around, became my wife your English was from Hollywood you knew the basics but you could not form a sentence with finesse and often got into a mess when foreign guests who spoke your tongue corrected you, 'say hang, not hung', and when my hopes were disappointed about your brain, would it be jointed with cognitive abilities to form a poem 'rhyme me please', I sat myself onto a chair and asked my God, if this was fair but God had better things to do so I went on, without ado and wrote my stuff, it was well liked then, quite on impulse I had spiked her drink to get the juices flowing so soon we'd have the neighbours crowing yet it became so very clear that her smooth legs, my fragrant dear had not a smidgen of the skill that you and I and others will with flair present to all who listen no, it is true my spouse was missing the talent to create a rhyme and here she was within her prime I found it was a major flaw that in the end she never saw and as I moped and pouted some she snuggled close and said, Hon, come I'll show you poetry deluxe and then I sensed that the true crux was not the words that would persuade because they do, in time all fade no where I looked for a creation a play with words as a sensation I had right near me the collection of all the poems on reflection and history and human pain, and love and hate, financial gain of sorrow and the sad good-byes and loyalties and filthy lies I grabbed her then with all my lust and whispered in her ear 'you must not ever think that one dam verse will make them fall out of their hearse when I regard you with my eyes', I laugh at all the other guys for I have landed what you sought and you have nothing, yes, its' naught my Shakespeare, who is rather nude right now and, no, not being rude will turn the lights off in great haste this poem now will not be chaste.