I'm just a verse, a boring one,
I don't inspire, I'm not much fun.
To read me is a painful chore
Because I'm such a crushing bore.
I haven't got a shred of clout,
I simply sit, day in, day out,
Upon the shelf, inviting dust,
So seldom read, and ne'er discussed.
Among the verse of Those Who Write
I'm what you'd call "a lesser light".
You'll find no wisdom here to cull,
My words are stodgy, vapid, dull.
I'll not set any reader dreaming;
There is nothing here redeeming.
When it comes to poems, I'm
It hurts to say, a waste of time.
I'm merely a poetic weed
That, sadly, no one wants to read.
But don't blame me (and you can quote me),
Blame the sorry fool who wrote me.