When you come you expect A poem but despite The fact that I love rhyming I know not what to write If I have no topic I write of random things But why do I write poems? Happiness it brings To me and me alone I don't know of another It gives me family Since I no longer have a brother To write of nothing other Than things that I think up Is pointless but yet so My mind's been interupt Because I write of random things I might not be too bright And since I write in no good order I know not what to write.