He moved so very quietly Peeking through the blades of gras… Of the tribe of lion hunters He was the very last He leapt from the bushes

The pop gun out law rode from town to town on his steed he’d ride wearing his hat like a crown his name they would call

You can hide it in make up But I know it’s still there A face designed Only to scare You can try to distract me

A poem’s a poem If it ends in a rhyme A poet’s a poet If he writes in spare time A poet grows famous

Maybe just one more piece What could possibly go wrong It won’t really make a difference Oh dear it’s all gone...

There once was a man Who was known and feared For the frightnening features Of his beard His hair was long

His pencil would not write No matter how much he would scold… “It’s not about the pencil boy” “It’s about the one who holds it”

This poems the worst Nothing like the first My ideas are scattered about And the pages run out I’ve got better things to do

I just witnessed a crime what do… Do I tell the cops what I had to… But I’m afraid if I do I’ll get… Since one had looked at me Oh well here it goes

There once was a boy Who was sent to the store He followed the path Till it led to a door The door was old

he came in guns waving “everyone get down” but when they all started dancing he left with just a frown

Someone left out this nice metal b… It warm inside and not even locked I crawled in the box and decided t… But awoke to find I was covered i…

I’ve decided to write a poem Where everything rhymed with time It would become a famous poem And the jealous would cringe As I called it mine