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I have a poem in my pocket.
I keep in closed like a locket.
I’m biding my time. When will I feel fine?
My heart is beating well past its design.
I have a poem on this paper.
To turn back now, I’d be a traitor.
I push myself out into to the field.
Our eyes meet, my weapon I wield.
I have this poem in my pocket.
Its words will shoot out like a rocket.
And finally, I’ll have you where I want you,
smitten by the words of Joey Blue.
And, finally, you’ll fall in love with me,
your unsuspecting knight.
I’ll win you this rhyme with love,
because I wrote every word just right.
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