Should I even start writing these poems?
What are they for?
What do they mean?
Maybe I’ll rap or tell them to Gean.

Gean is my friend,
she is a gnome,
she lives in my garden,
in back,
at home.

Gean’s job is simple,
She does it with ease.
She takes care of the carrots,
the squash,
the peas.

For this I give,
her a house to stay,
in my beautiful garden,
hidden away,
near the fence,
up the hill,
by the tree with the swing;
Gean plays,
violin with one lost string.

I digress from the title, to talk about Gean,
but maybe I’ll finish in a poem unseen.