She was there all right,
I saw her standing,
I had to run,
or I'd die of fright.

She was there,
I saw her,
I'm sure I did,
It is not a dream,
it is not a story,
But I saw her.

Her.

She had a beautiful black dress on,
she stared at me,
she didn't talk,
I knew it wouldn't last long.

But I saw her again,
just not visibly,
she was invisible,
but I saw and heard her,
because she asked me for a pen.

Then she was gone.
Gone forever.
The only time I'd have a chance,
I'd lose it,
because I was too shy to say,
"Stay here, You are my best friend."

 
There is no poem called nothing,
apart from this one,
because if a poem said nothing,
it wouldn't have text on it,
and it wouldn't be a a poem.

There once was a dog named dog,
who lived in a cloud of fog,
he fell off a cliff,
and he started to sniff,
and he then saw his cousin, named frog.

 
There once was a table named dick,
she was always as hard as a brick,
and the smile that she had,
always made her feel sad,
to comfort her I taught her to lick.

This limerick doesn't make any sense but it is still a poem.

There once was a turtle called hi,
who ate everything but pie,
she ate a small piece of cake,
not knowing she was at the lake,
and the whole thing fell off the sky.