Roses are red,
Violets are blue;
Poems are meant to rhyme.
But this one will struggle…
My hands are poised on the PC keyboard,
Keen to record a powerful word.
Well, that’s what I int_ _ _ to do,
Even if it’s not yet properly thought through.
My ambition asc_ _ _s to concepts particular,
Though it’s hard to stay perp_ _ _icular
Because of the heat
And the sweat
On my brow.
Still, I’ll try to _ _ _ ure
For my motives are pure.
Yet to comm_ _ _
Or def_ _ _
Myself is not my goal.
Though with such a lengthy preamble
It’s no small gamble
To _ _ _eavour to predict what conclusion
Will emerge from within this confusion.
But alas, this meandering preamble’s
Made the poem desc_ _ _ into a shambles.
If you’ve made it to this premature _ _ _ ,
And if your patience I did not off_ _ _,
You’ve _ _ _eared yourself to me.
And I consider you to be
A loyal fri_ _ _;
A spl_ _ _id person on whom I know I can surely dep_ _ _.
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