(written for my poetry pals, Carrie Elin, Heath and Kelly)

The promise of the poems was a lie—
she felt humiliated and contrite.
She wondered if it made the others cry.

She tried sometimes, but words would not comply.
She even stayed up late into the night.
The promise of the poems was a lie.

At times she sat and gave it a good try
but all that happened was a verbal fight.
She wondered if it made the others cry.

She tried, she hoped that they would not deny
that her intentions were quite true and right.
The promise of the poems was a lie.

It seemed her tiny talent went awry—
it wasn’t that she didn’t plan to write.
She wondered if it made the others cry

She wrote one villanelle to notify
her poem pals about her sorry plight.
The promise of the poems was a lie.
She wondered if it made the others cry.

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