I Am the Lone Caboose

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Cut me from the cloth once spun

By poets great and apt

I've read Thoreau and even Donne

For course I may adapt

Dickenson, Walt Whitman too

Love poems and the dreary

Perusing I have read them through

Selfish for a theory

Meter count and rhyming flow

But naught has been refined

Insight fed will ever grow

Sighting eyes once blind

Perhaps to travel world by train

And view a tranquil scene

But skill it seems to have no reign

On thoughts without routine

In front of me the first, the best

I am the lone caboose

Oh, to hell with this and all the rest

I'll stick with Dr. Suess

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