Bore
	There once was a poem					It should have been sent
	It was quite a bore,					To a distant shore.
	It had no heart					Then appeared a tiny change
	Not even a core.					A small crack in the door,
	It should have been erased					But after another look
	To and fore,					It might be better on the floor.
	To save me and you					It was as green
	From the gore.					And moldy as a spore,
	It contained no modern history					Toss it to the wind
	Or even ancient history lore.					And watch it soar.
	It went on and on					As you plod through it
	And on some more.					Don't keep score,
	It seemed to penetrate					And above all
	Every pore,					Try not to snore.
	It was so bad it hurt					You now know why the author
	Like an open sore.					Was so poor,
	It raked the skin					He tried and tried
	As through the heart it tore,					But it was too big a chore.
	Line after line, word after word					And just when you thought
	On and on it wore.					There was nothing else in store,
	It was worse than a stable					Just this last stanza
	In the days of yore,					To make you roar.
						Forevermore.
								Ivan