If you asked me if I'd ever have 100 poems
I'd have said that you were off your rocker
But years from now there may be tomes
With copies in a high school locker

You see, I've been bitten by the poetry bug
And will keep writing till I've nothing more
To say in a poetic form, wait, I need a hug
If I wrote longhand, my fingers would be sore

As they say, tomorrow is another day
If again I am so moved to put words down
To the catalog, a poem or two, I may
Add, and then take a breath and frown