Why Do They Come!
Oh Rose,
They come yelling,
At the top of their croaking voice
We love thy poetry,
Silently they say,
Like hell!
Meaning exactly

Their eyes give away
A crooked smile
Their loneliness
Upon their hearts does ride,
They are a classic case of depression,
I only can advise simple meditation.
They say they love poetry,
Not me,
But my poems are as lovely,
As is Lovely honey
They come not for poetry now,
Can’t you not that see
You can.
I’m glad they have gone away
Like the gales of a tsunami,
As it comes
From the coasts Eastern
Of a land since forgotten