Write as you please,
In six minutes,
Like a breeze.

I fear that,
Without a prompt,
The words won't flow,
Compet-
ently.

So I'll leave you this poem,
With it's oddities and misrhymes,
Mismatched verse and rhythms,
Lines that run out of time.

Words that make no sense,
Lines that are too dense,
And of course you must remember,
In this chilly month of September,
That poetry doesn't have to rhyme.