Donkey Turns English Teacher, Just For Today. Wait, Why Are You Running Away??

April is National Poetry Month in Canada and the United States. I think it should be in every country, but having it in most of North America is not too shabby a start.

If you live in either country, you would only be doing your patriotic duty by writing a poem in the comments. And if you don't live in either country, that's no excuse. You should write one, too. It doesn't need to be long - Ogden Nash could pack a lot into two lines and so can you. Here's one of my favourites from Mr. Nash:

Fleas

Adam
Had 'em.

There now, isn't that easy? Go on now, give it a try. Rhyming, not rhyming, limerick, haiku, ode, sonnet, ballad, free verse   - anything goes!

And just to show you that quality does not matter, I offer from my personal writing vault this clunker from 2010, back when I first heard of National Poetry Month. You will notice that it is written in free verse. In other words, just like talking. See! YOU could do that, too. (Apologies to Robert Frost. I do love his poetry.)

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Reply to The Pasture
   - by Procrastinating Donkey

Some experts think that Robert Frost wrote deep poetry.

I honestly can't see it.

Even if they ARE experts.

I still can't see it.

In fact, I see other things when I read this Robert Frost poem:

 The Pasture 

I'm going out to clean the pasture spring;  

I'll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):
I sha'n't be gone long. You come too.

I'm going out to fetch the little calf
That's standing by the mother. It's so young,
It totters when she licks it with her tongue.
I sha'n't be gone long. You come too.

Now.
Why would the writer
(Who is widely agreed to be a farmer)
Want a little calf?
Because he's going to turn it into veal, that's why.
He's not going to cuddle it.
He's not going to shoe it or milk it.
He's not going to bathe it or brush it or clip its hooves.
He's not going to teach it to sing or play checkers.
It's time for veal chops.
You know it's true.
That poem is far from a tender scene, if you ask me.
It's a horror story, for mom and the little guy.
No, I don't wish to "come too", Mr. Farmer.
Back off with your horrific invitation, eh.

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(I'm not sure why this poem took the turn it did, but I do hope it is clear that I wrote it tongue-in-cheek.)

Your turn. And if you really don't want to write a poem, but you'd like to take part, you could share a bit of poetry you had to memorize as a child, or a song lyric that speaks to you. Doesn't need to be the whole thing; a line or two will be quite fine. Thank you for reading and playing along, and I hope class did not traumatize you too badly.