I probably would do better just
To read blogs than to write them;
For I impart no knowledge,
Only feelings as they go

And poetry’s a whisper
Seldom heard among the shouting;
A piece of awkward furniture
That’s merely there for show

Like chamber music softly played,
But right next to a dance club –
A lullaby a mother sings
With jackhammers outside –

I probably would do better just
To read blogs then to write one;
But some are meant for engines, while
The rest of us just
Glide