A Problem With Your Mind

There is a problem with your mind
It doesn't stretch the way it should
It's hard and knobby like a rind
That's why your poetry's no good

When you invent the printing press
At first the world is marvelous
But what was once sure to impress
Soon fades to just another nuisance

You fear the new until it's old
And when it's old, disdain it
You never met a goose of gold
Without wanting to brain it

Your mind could be a lot of things
If it would only try
But somehow you have grown no wings
You're just an average guy

Your mind would love to soar and dance
Through fields and valleys glad
But it never gives itself the chance
That's why your poems are bad.