Confessions of a Poetry Fool

There's poetry leaking from all my pores,
My skin is slick with metaphors.
In double -dactyls my heart skips
As  dizzy quatrains drip from my lips.

I'm not quite sure how I got this way,
Just a simple Joe with not much to say,
Till the fever hits and for a time
I can't suppress this urge to rhyme.

Should anyone ask who shaped my views

On works poetic, I'd say Dr. Seuss

And that matriarch on a white gander mounted 

Whose influence litteraire just can't be discounted.

Versification is just so addictive
Even when the results are afflictive.
Such bliss they don't ever teach you in school
And yet here I am -- a poetry fool.

Blessing or curse? Who can say?
Perhaps this is my metiér
Good verse, bad verse, to me it's all one
At least I can say I'm having fun.