Poems about spring, an endeavor which quickly became competitive

My father and I participated in a little poem-off via email recently. It was over 30 degrees outside and I was feeling incredibly giddy, so I took to the keyboard to express my glee, and he quickly responded. 

My mom declared me the winner of our first go round, which yielded a strong comeback from my dad. The back-and-forth is below. I've left his spelling and grammar as is, of course. 

Lyrical combat. March madness. Leaving our gloves behind upon exiting the house. It's all turning around, guys. It's all getting good. 


Temps are rising
Snow is melting

Cig butts, dog poop everywhere

I don't care!

Spirits high
Folks are spry

Spring is nigh.

my dad: 

Spring is here

Why aren't the birdies


Spring is here

And the doggies are purring

Of if u only loved me

We go go. Go go

Tiptoeing to Palermo.

my dad's comeback upon LOSING: 

The poetry is judged

But we know it 's a crime

Cause mom favors Cara

All the time

Dad is the best

But mom won 't admit it

And so CarA is judged best

As Dad sheds tears

   Into his vest

Such is the fate

As it alwAys has been

Of poets great

When judged by

   The mean

my comeback to that: 

I won

The fight is fought

I'm the best

Dad is not. 

he responded that he "hated it," and returned with: 

Oh wicked Gods 

Who cast me down

Upon the rocks 

My guts spilt out 

No more to roam

No more be free

My role as Seer 

NoMore Is Mine 

For Cara  judged the best of


By Momma Girl

The Queen of Lies