Here I sit with pen to write
Words to bore or may delight.
A rhyme or two of twisted thought
Of if I could or should I ought.

A pen to press upon a page
Wisdom where are you, oh sage?
A stage have I to speak, be heard
And so I craft each rhyme, each word.

Cluttered clusters clever still
Clueless, careless couplets fill.
Will these tangles twist and turn
Teasing, tossing verses churn?

Express, confess, I have no clue
Rehearse, inverse a word or two.
To sleep, count sheep, Is my delight
Now rest is best, I say goodnight.