Poetry and rhyme

are my greatest foes.

When given the time,

I’d rather write prose.

Nevertheless

I’d like to pass,

so, I guess

I’ll fret over this task.

Minutes speed by

and slowly words come,

but I wish this fly

would inspire some.

Sadly, no, he has

nothing to offer.

He is known as

merely a bother.

Over halfway done,

yet not even close.

Rhyme unfailingly shuns

nine-tenths I propose.

At last, here I am:

the final stretch!

Now you can condemn

this poem and retch.

I see that frown

and I deserve it.

I should have found

something better to submit.