My Rusty Squeeze Box Poem Poem by Shaun Cronick

My poem has seized solid,
It doesn't flow or beat.
Its meter's off by miles,
Perhaps one to delete.

It craves poetry oil,
To loosen up a bit.
Oil as in new words,
Fresh idioms to submit.

A complete poem overhaul,
I shall now perform.
My rusty squeeze box poem,
I gladly will transform.

It reads a little clunky,
I'll rewrite every rhyme.
Polish them up a bit,
Shining line by line.

The last verse tricky,
A message to rethink.
Not for it to vanish,
Like an invisible ink.

That should be suffice,
My rusty poem freed.
Now flowing so smoothly,
And easier to read.