I thought that I would never see
a poem lovely as a tree...
but for any tree you care to name
there is a poem much the same.
A bud that glows a verdant hue:
a simile you've heard anew.
Discarded leaves upon the ground:
a thousand words piled all around.
Rough bark that rasps against your skin:
off-rhymes worse than cliches worn thin.
Graceful, sweeping, arching boughs:
the poem that you're reading now.
And then there's that arboreal trait--
poems, too, cross-pollinate.
The weedy form will allergize,
hence runny nose and scratchy eyes,
but these same symptoms can proceed
from thoughts you inhale as you read.
So e're composing verse again,
consider taking Claritin.
Inspired (on April Fools day) by Joyce Kilmer's famous "Trees"
Oh, I'm definitely taking some Claritin next time I try to write poetry. Or read it. Or really even think about it.
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