Do you have a poetic licence

to park your pitiful purple prose

(alliteratively he wrote)

it even puts my poor feet to sleep

and gives me painful coma toes

(literally did he quote)

and have you paid your syn tax

to persist in paltry poetry

(a non sequitur perhaps)

as dabbling in sad scribbling

is how your paean 'ppears to me

(no storied scripts mere scraps)

before paper and pen you pick up

or possibly parchment and quill

(pheasant not porcupine)

please procrastinate perchance to ponder

prior to putting out pig in a poke swill

(pearls of wisdom before swine)