Here is a poem that I wrote one day. The numbers are there because I was counting syllables.
Through (1) winter (2) chill (2) and (1) snow (1) so (1) cold (1),
I (1) found (1) a (1) place (1) that (1) will (1) ne’er (1) grow(1) old (1),
A (1) doorway (2) made (1) of (1) oak (1) and (1) yew (1),
yet a doorway seen by none but few.
I opened up the door and saw
a sight that filled me with some awe
a barren field covered in snow,
a forest path with no place to go,
and as I stood watching there,
my fingers froze as if they bare/my toes got cold as in the air (2nd verse)