Long ago when my mother asked me

"What do you like?"

I replied "words, stories, and all things alike,"

This shook the poor woman in certain disarray 

For she did not expect me that to say

But you see, my dear friends, 

Shel Silverstein's stories stirred up a commotion 

Of thoughts and feelings not yet set into motion

There was something set in this poetry

That would not escape my mind fleetingly

Then one day I picked up a pen 

And scrawled a few stanzas into the sand

Of this metaphorical beach I cannot say 

But since that day I have gone the distance

To begin my illustrious journey

Of bringing grand poetry into existence