The poet
Now the first is a poet with talent
He sets up process with complete balance
Every scribble every rhyme pushing the limits
I’m his mind and infinite maze that thoughts emit
His words so soulful and yet so lonely
It’s hard to he’s written them only
By night he’s dark and brute
By day he’s soft as soot
His name.is paim that’s without a doubt
Every morning his mind pours on paper like a spout
He’s not too loud and not too quiet
With all he writes you would think he’s a root
But alas he’s not , a timid young fool
Whose proms speak volumes in the the room
His pen is mighty and his brain is sleek
His clothes so dapper throughout the week
While the ladies savor he’s kept in his room
With pen to paper until next june.

Rosalia

Rosalia a name of many but only one counts
My love my muse I love with every once
She’s calm and timid no bad in her blood.
Those warm eyes she gives you calls on a heart flood.
Beyond a reasonable doubt she is the one for him
He sits in his room stargazing juts like a wimp
But alas he is nervous and everyone can see
That her love real flame burns deeply in thee
Long hair brown eyes and oh so creamy skin
He hopes to write something that will catch him a win
With her heart because there is no other like
The beautiful Rosalia who is such a sight
He walks to her Dorr breathing confidence in his lungs
He gets to her window and there his heart takes a plunge
There goes his Rosalia looking beautiful indeed.
But another in the frame a man build like a steed.
Heart broken heart crushed are the feelings being felt.
By the young people whose eyes she once met.
One pen in hand and heart broken into two
Solitude follows the poet as his shade t