Is the poet just a pimp
A coward and a wimp
That wears masks in rhyme
Sometimes to save a dime,
Can you trust what the poet says,
As a lady, do you know when he cares?
His emotions come so easy,
How do you which is the real he?
Maybe he is a mighty warrior,
Who lives his life for the conquer
And would not stop until infinite’s his number
A master, he escapes a careless blunder.
Copyright © 2009 Leslie Alexis
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem