Ode to that book, the thick one
Tabled there, right by my bed;
It's been with me many years
Yet, still, to this point, unread.
I keep it close, with intent to read,
'least, that's what I tell wife dear,
She's changed asking when I'll
Read it to, "why is it still here?"
You see, it was a gift from her
Several Christmases ago,
Recommended by her friend,
A teacher, so she should know...
But, "boring" would understate
That writer's dullard wit, alas,
Couldn't even peruse reviews -
Reminded me of Eco class...
So, why do I keep such a book
If not worth the price she paid?
Its mere proximity shuts my eyes,
This, my "non-addictive sleeping aid."
Write an Ode poem. It is a poem praising a person, place or thing.|
No book? Try watching European soccer...