Stephen Fry

I wanted poetry to find its way
into my mind, a daily exercise,
but not just random verse. Some form more sure
a transformation in my work to make.
I asked my friends to recommend some text.
Rebecca said the one that worked for her
The Ode Less Traveled writ by Stephen Fry
would surely do the trick. And so I took
her kind advice and ordered soon this book.
It found its merry way from Amazon
a mere ten days to find my snowy stoop.
Last night upon the pillow lay my head.
I undertook to reading chapter one.
Where else but with pentameter to start,
invoking iambs pounding out their beat?
And so this break from verses lacking form
I cast ridiculously at the feet
of friends who dare endure in company
a man of careless words and humour poor,
but it is not my fault. Blame Stephen Fry.

I'm writing a poem a day in February.