Poetry nowadays has gone all askew

That junk that is written is simply not true

Roses are red and violets are blue

Just hear me out--I'll tell it to you

Roses are red, yes that we can see

I don't see why it is pointed out to me

Roses are more than a color, you know

They are fragrant, vibrant, and free

Vivid and ruby-hued; gems on a crown

Lusciously full; scarlet on green

Violets aren't blue!--even blind men will tell

They glow softly purple plum

Mixed with midnight swell

They shiver and grow, smile and die

Living amethysts under sun's bright eye

Roses are red and violets are blue

'Tis a cheap kind of phrase

Rends the heart of poet true

For a rhyme is not a poem

And a poem is not a rhyme

I wish people would learn that--it's really about time