Andrew was a rather dreamy 8-year-old boy of average intelligence.  I had explained what syllables are, and given examples, then asked the kids to write a short poem with 1,2,3,4,5,4,3,2,1 syllables, to make a diamond shape.  Several of them didn't get it, and counted words instead, or just made the lines look the right shape.  This was Andrew's effort.

Please
little man
sing me a song
the sweetest song
that has ever been
with a harp
or a fiddle.
Sing a song
about the beautiful princess
or the sad puppet
or the thunder giant.
Sing me a song.

Would any of you have told him he had it wrong?  He had started off with an idea of the shape, but then the poetry had taken over.  I told him it was a brilliant poem - because it was - and not to worry about the syllables.

It is when
Im truly alive
My soul's humming
Through the sound
Of the night
dark deep skies
Sparkle with stars
Mustering the courage
To set up my life
Thinking deeper
Goes with time
Aftermidnight
I wont say goodbye
Its my divine life
Where I can seek
Way in deeper
To the north
lost star
Who found me even
Hideout of the weak
Its dark and frosty
But did anyone realized
The place's astonishing
Nowhere it is
Healing sky
In midnight it is
I lost my soul
Gazing the lights
That colors my mind
For every turn
Tricking its safe
But somewhere inner
It sinks in deeper

-ks.

It's weird, the way I rhyme,
I'm out of time
It's like a child,
The way my lines
Never end up the same size
It always ends up a surprise,
The way I rhyme
Made up on the spot,
I never bother cleaning up
If all my lines were the same length,
I'd feel my poems go corrupt
Yet even though
some lines are fast and others slow
I always go
To the ticking of a clock
I'm
Sticking to this loop
Coz it never feels right
Waiting for an age
For a light
To appear above my head,
Coz I can never think of one in time
I teach myself to improvise
With all my lines,
With all my rhymes,
Coz it's weird,
The way I rhyme.