I sat about for me to write a poem of great renown,
And spread the word throughout the land, from countryside to town,
That soon within their midst would live a poet of highest praise
Who wielded a pen so talentedly, it would all men amaze

I thought I'd write of trees, said I, of their majestic beauty,
I knew I could pen delightful words to pay the tree full duty.
The words would blend so skillfully that the reader would rejoice
Till I realized 'twas already done by a Kilmer, first name, Joyce.

I had a faithful servant by the name of Shorty Murphy
Who had helped me with all sorts of things, mechanical and turfy.
I'll write of him, said I to me, of things done and places been,
Till I realized this too was done, for a guy named "Gunga Din".

I'll write of my house, the thought struck me, 'tis not a palace, but home.
A nook in the hills of Old Kentuk, from whence I'll never roam
Thus I began to pen the words to extol my humble abode,
To only realize it was done in "A House By The Side Of The Road."

Of what shall I write, I wracked my brain, till it came like a blinding light
That I had a twin in my early years and we were our parent's delight.
And how one day he was taken from us and we set up a cry and a hue,
Then I realized 'twas already written in a poem called "Little Boy Blue".

Undaunted, I pressed on to write.. a poem to bring me fame
I struggled and fussed until at last in a flash to me, it came.
The season's changing, harvest is near and soon the fire we'll be chunkin'
Alas, I realized this too was done in "When The Frost Is On The Punkin"

Dejectedly I pushed aside my parchment and my quill
Knowing well, for me to write, was not within God's will.
Glancing about the room I spied my new, big screen TV.
To Hell with writing, said me to I, I'll just see what I can see.

- Pete Collins

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