It's Its Poem by Denis Martindale

The poem's in a rush today!
So fast it tells me things
And yet I know, along the way,
The errors that speed brings...
Yet it won't stop its speed at all,
As if it didn't care
And while that drives me up the wall,
I haven't got a prayer...

So on I type, like I'm a blur,
Though grammar's up the creek,
The poem lets mistakes occur,
Yet brings me words unique...
I can't spell that, I'll have to check,
But now, it's not the time
And so I think, Oh, what the heck! ?
At least the verses rhyme!

The poem hurtles to its end,
I'm breathless, then it's gone!
It's waved goodbye, as if my friend,
Yet I must carry on!
I've got to fix the damage done,
The poem's just not right!
It's its, not it's, no one, not none
And midnight not mid night...

A few mistakes till they're erased,
My work's almost complete,
A few more commas to be placed,
Until the reading's sweet...
My poem friend refused to chat!
It left me quite aghast!
It's finished, now! Thank God for that!
It's time to rest, at last!