Just Another Wannabe Blues (100 words)

If I thought that I might be a poet
I would laze away days in reverie
Fake till I make it, make like I know it
Like an overplayed song, droning too long
Deleting this or that for brevity
I studied some English, like everyone
Standard lessons of grammar and spelling
But poeticism was never won
What I write is just trite, not worth telling
Ambition, yes, but inspiration, scant
Weak diction, pale images, no timing
Would that I could, but I can’t so I shan’t
It ain’t so tragic – there’s just no magic
What emerges is meaningless rhyming

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