Speaking Weird

On the stage at Speaking Weird,

there’s this guy with a  wee grey beard

stating his case of which he’s certain, 

before the pulls the  final curtain.

A grey beard loon who’s still got time, 

to arrange some words with rhythm and rhyme, 

Into what we call a poem,

to perform or read it , then go home.

He’ll hum and haw, and cough his way

through the words he’s trying to say,

The audience , they’ll maybe cheer, 

or maybe buy the guy a beer,

They’ll laugh out loudly at his humour,

This guy’s a poet, so goes the rumour, 

He might return to read again, 

Who knows where, and who knows when?