Words

I write there, and then you write they’re I write who, and then you write whom I misspell my words, too me you then curse Then you call me a stupid loon. You call me names, from which I refrain Then I am off to a different room. I forget punctuation's, It gives you frustrations I don't use a contraction, you give me verbal action Then I misspell a word, you call me absurd I give you my silence it’s my only reaction. You call me a name, my innocence I proclaim My humility is seems, is your only satisfaction. I sit at my typewriter, I still am a fighter As I close my eyes, words still materialize Words are my friends, rhyming is my sin Maybe someday that, you will realize. I finish another poem, to the world I show them I write another verse, it becomes my universe. You are my inspiration, my poems your creation You correct what I write, it gives you such delight You enjoy to respell, at words which you excel You tell me they are wrong, I know you are right. But you still are my friend, I hope it will never end I am the poet, your a wordsmith and you show it. Randy L. McClave