A Found Poem

 

Where have you been little poem?

Your feet are muddy and you are

 

dripping syllables . You are covered in

worn-out phrases and inky smudges.

 

There seems to be no rhyme

to this form of yours. No line of reason

 

or hint of season in your wordy count(enance).

Let me wrap you in warm metered stanzas.

 

Let me embrace you with a loving simile.

Let me be the refrain in your rhythmic scheme.

Day 11 of NaPoWriMo