short--story

Take a minute out of your time, Come and read this poem of mine It's not about love or other feelings, No need to search for hidden meanings Here are my thoughts out on display, Words and silly rhymes occupy my day. English is the language I hold dearest, But writing is hard, I confess in earnest, For Shakespeare used up all of the rhymes Back in those wonderful Elizabethan times And what is there for a noob poet to do - But try his best even without a clue. Also, forgive me for my grammar mistakes Which every non-native sometimes makes I'm clumsy with words, yes, I confess, Yet I want to be a writer none the less.