These Are The Conditions

He handed out the poetry assignment and against my inhibitions,
I read across the top the page "These are the Conditions".

But Dr. Riley has to know, for surely this can't be,
there can't be set conditions, not in poetry.

As I sat down to write my poem, I stared down at the page,
at the bound limits of my art, confined within this cage.

In my secret spot called Reggie's Root, I sat beneath my tree;
in the rain I sat pondering, a poem that could never be.

So first I thought of colors, the horizon and the setting sun
bleeding reds and oranges through the clouds as if all one.

Now according to the seasons, if rightfully I recall,
the mixture of these colors, implied that it was Fall.

Finishing I decided the worst of this whole forsaken mess,
is that he wanted us to write all this, in fifteen lines

or less.