Poet After All

He told me he couldn't write poetry,
He said he didn't know how to rhyme,
I told him anyone could do it
If they took a little time.
For seven and a half hours
I stayed on the phone with him,
Until the sun started to shine through
And the stars began to dim,
I said something poetic,
And he matched it just as well,
"See?" I said. "Poetry!"
He couldn't even tell.
We went back and forth
Exchanging poetic words of love
Our phrases soared above us
On the white wings of a dove.
Soon he began to realize
As I made to end the call,
"Wow," he said, "I guess that I'm
A poet after all."