Here is a poem I wrote back in who even knows when. I don't know where I was, or what was happening in my life. Sometimes, flipping through old pages of composition books, I find something I like. In this one, the stanzas are 3 lines, 4 lines, 5 lines, and 6 lines, all in order. I kind of like that.
gotta love the snow -
it'll come and it'll go -
that's a sure bet.
pine tree's too got a style,
small to tall
they all seem to hang around a while.
that for sure's got to make you smile.
can't help but take pause
at a red tailed hawk's outstretched claws.
not too bad bein' prey too.
it all goes back
to the same old stew.
three lines, four lines, five lines, six,
you gotta love a poet, and the poems he picks.
it's not his fault when it doesn't go.
clear as water, turned to snow.