Life is but a Poem

You say you don't like poetry.

I say that you know not of what you speak.

"Oh, it's true, so very, very true."

"But, you are immersed in poetry, my friend."

"How so?", you ask.

You, my dear, are a poet,

Your life but a poem,

Each day a new verse,

Each week a new stanza,

Building until your ode is complete,

And like snowflakes, no two are identical.

The end, not yet written, for it is yours to write.

Care to change your mind? Your path and lines? Your ode?

Do you still dislike poetry?

If so, how unfortunate.

I truly weep for you, my friend.