Mood/Made/Flow/Forged Poem by Dennis Lange

Line writing, must I feel like verse,
For words and poems to form?
Or is it when I'm feeling worse,
They come but have no chorm?

When brow sweat browbeats words in shape
'Cause heart song does not sing,
Do birds take flight and chimps go ape
As wrenched rhyme-bells wring?

When lines are built by block and brick,
And not by poet flow,
Do they still soothe souls that are sick?
Does anybody no?

Is water pumped as pure and cool
As water from a well
That slakes the thirst of any fool
In palace or in sell?

They seem to me to be as sweet
As cakes or chocolate pie.
And if the reader says they treat,
Then who am I to lye?