Has anyone I wonder
Upstairs or down under
Turned millionaire
by penning a rare
poem of distinction
not prose or of fiction
but a rhyme so excellentee
that it'd earn money plenty?
Can really a poete
Be Keats or Goethe
Create such a concoction
That there'd be no option
But to read it in a vault
Amidst vapours and salts
So that this frailty
May not be guilty
of crumbling to pieces
by some telekinesis?
Today here I am lying
The sky I am eyeing
with this idle activity
Soon New York City
Will hear of this rhymer
Over each other they'll climber
eager to book
With their fat pass-book
this latest feller
on the list best-seller!
