Progymnasmata

This poem was originally entered into the Subject contest in the Personal Poetry forum.

Inspiration

We have this bag of beads;
They're glass and green and red.
My muse she spills them on her head
Like a giant pouch of Burpee seeds.

My muse is two not three,
And she'll tell you how it is:
"These beads are mine" she'll say, "not his."
And so I'll fain to leave her be.

She'll tell me that they're jewels.
She'll tell me that they're cats.
I'll "meow" and drink my cold Labatts
Because I know we're playin' fools.

"Words fall like ruby red gems"
I'll say to her in glee.
"These ruby red words are for me"
She'll reply, sweet as M&Ms.

I saw my muse at birth;
I saw my muse today;
You know the one of whom I say?
Then throw some beads for little Mirth! Hooray!