Unlike the potion #9 

I hold no breathtaking purpose 

or rhyme

I'm simply written 

to be

that #25 poem, 

you see. 

 

And with this my master, 

will be so happy to find

that badge shinning brightly 

up on her account, 

while all I can do 

is just stay here and 

sit around. 

 

Waiting for a person like you 

to come and read, 

and hear my tale of sorrow 

as I bitterly weep.

 

For you may like or hate me now, 

but soon I know, 

that once I reach an end, 

It'll be time for you to go! 

 

So maybe if I keep on stalling, 

and continue to drag on, 

no will notice 

that this #25 poems 

rhyme is almost gone. 

 

Both you and my master, 

that once kind soul who wrote me 

will not glance back, 

to check and see 

if I'm okay, 

instead you will

get 

so 

bored 

with 

me 

and eventually go away. 

 

So maybe if I keep up this charade, 

of pretending to be sweet, 

and toss out 

long eloquent words like 

coniferous, sudatorium and cleme 

you'll stay for awhile, 

instead of leave!

 

No! No! I know that face well! 

I know you don't like me! 

It's a face that I'm used to now - 

so fine go ahead, 

see if I care! 

I'll just wait for another person 

to come, 

until someone finally sees,

out of all those poems 

that my master wrote, 

I'm the best of the best, 

and I deserve to be 

made into a quote!