The Pupil

 

He has the face of an angel as he watches over me,

Quietly watching while I write my poetry,

Bursting with enthusiasm, wishing to write too,

Imploring me to teach him, to show him what to do,

I tell him there is nothing that he cannot attain,

Just rhyme two words together, like vain and remain.

 

He rhymed the words together, rhyming in his sleep,

He looked so very sad, that he almost made me weep,

He looked at me in disbelief, he’d tried it all before,

It doesn’t work at all he said, eyes staring at the floor,

Rhyme the words, sing the words, until you find the beat,

With iambic pentameter, join poetry’s elite.

 

 

 

 

Copyright 2001

Carole A.M. Johnson.