My Worst Poem

Because screenplays and poems are close cousins (in terms of both format and economy of language), my first-term style teacher, Adam Warren, asked us to write a god-awful poem en route to coming up with a good one.  For what it's worth:

I Flung Myself At Her
by Paul Donnett

I flung myself at her like a dog in heat,
Like some sweet luncheon meat,
Like a field full of wheat.

And she opened her arms like a bright sunny day,
and the horses did bray
And the children did play
And the farmers made hay
And the real men turned gay.

And we rolled and we rolled
In a patch of pure gold,
Till we got really old
and started to mold.

Fin