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I’ll never be a laureate:

     Well I'd have to meet the King,

And, whilst he knows that I write poems,

      Don't tell him I can't sing!

 

I’ll never be a laureate:

     Well, who wants poems that rhyme?       

Then laureates have lots to do

     And I have little time.

 

I’ll never be a laureate:

     I’m rather shy, you see,

And who wants Granny laureates?

      No - not the job for me!

 

I’ll never be a laureate:

     I’ve wrinkles on my face 

And, having failed the *eleven plus,

      I quickly learned my place.

 

I’ll never be a laureate:

     My hair has turned quite white,

Though some old grans write poetry

    That brings the kids delight!

 

I’ll never be a laureate:

    My teeth are falling out

And laureates are bright and slim

     Whilst I am dim and stout.

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(Ooh - It's not quite true but it rhymes)

 

I’ll never be a laureate:

    My poems are much too clear -

For: ‘Analyse this *obscure verse’

     Are words that students fear.

 

Well, who wants to be a laureate?

     Oh, after I have died

Perhaps you'll write my epitaph:

    ‘Her words went far and wide.’

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Copyright on all my poems

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*  obscure: not clearly understood.  Meant to confuse

or puzzle the reader.

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