The Poem

In a melancholy mood I wrote a poem
The words began to flow
Without rhyme or reason
The thing began to grow

From word to word and line to line
An idea began to form
It's like a song but not really
Just a simple little poem

With pen in hand I began to write
As if I had nothing to hide
With doubts in check, I kept at it
My emotions the only guide

This thing I wrote was now complete
It made me happy to succeed
The only thing that was really left
Was to leave it for you to read