The Literacy ExamMature

With my 3 black pens,

And paper so blank,

I think about the questions,

And teachers I should thank.

These questions are too easy,

Something must go wrong,

But as I scribble away,

I start to feel strong.

Then there it comes,

Bursting straight out,

The question that I dreaded,

Not knowing what it's about.

Poetry it declares,

Now what do I say about that,

So what could I do?

I thought and I sat.

Now what did poets think,

When this poem they did write,

Could it be this or that,

I thought with all my might.

Then I realised something,

That I would remember till the end of my days,

They meant nothing but what they said there,

Just in various descriptive ways.

So why did teachers presume,

They meant a whole lot more,

They only meant what they wrote,

For that I am sure.

So in conclusion,

To my essay,

The poet wrote what he thought,

And that's all I have to say.

The End

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