I do not like my green eggs in ham,
I do not like it,
Sam I am.

I cannot be told,
Of moments fleated,

I cannot be guested,
To move freely.

Nor the trumpet play,
The thing between two nostrils,
To simply let me be.

In each tone another whisper,
Of the thoughts which we,
Another mistrial.

Keep in charge the moment distal,
And tongue it out,
Retracting steps.

I am in control.