"Rows to Hoe"

In nineteen hundred forty four
The rays of sunshine hurt her head
She hated the plots unending chore
A girl of five awash with dread
Her dreams of food and cloths and toys
No treats or candy or play or boys
She runs and hides under a tree
In nineteen hundred sixty three
On sale, a jacket, she picked yellow
A brief and flaming, glowing show
A morpheus gain, a moth to flame
The grief is burnt to ash and smoke
Avoiding rows and rows and rows
Of cotton to hoe; of sickles and crows

Iambic Hexameter

"Homeless"
A man in rags no coat, no tie, no vest, or hat
Now lives on streets in rain, in cold, in snow, no heat
Once rich, his claim a car, a wife, a kid and cash.
He hopes to eat; he waits for soup or digs in trash
His bed a box on bank of river or bench in park
It's gone, the love, the joy, the peace and life is dark.

Pentameter "Love is Real"

A shout, a pout, they doubt this love is real,
He’s mad, she’s sad, they curse in pain and ire,
She thinks he dared jinx a love so rare
A kiss now bliss a sign to show and seal,
No shout, no pout, no doubt this love is real.