I Am Not A Pro Like That Poem by James McLain

Wriggling as if you were born
comming out of a cocoon
it is most unvaried way to seat
the treats of
common man.
Sleeping soft of you your wings
floating always sifting thought
while cuddled by the power of
a word in two now caught.
Moaning low assented yes to
luscious ness to test one
ear I tear a lot to wash that spot
a lot.
Thoughtless joy of mind I carry found
to always stay as fond of magic when
green dragon fires the sky.