My poems have been signed TMD,
And TJM and TJP,
They're all my names, and they're all not.
Although I keep the T.

The Tyler isn't going to change,
Another first would feel too strange,
The one I have's the one I'll keep,
The last, yet to arrange.

A rose by any other name,
Is just as sweet they always say,
But who might pick the rose that's chose,
To not fit quite the same.

The garden's reject, self imposed,
The shapeless and miscolored rose,
To change itself and shed its thorns,
Is just the way life goes.

Perhaps the bush was not his place,
He's better off in some old vase,
To change his name, and just be done,
The father bloom and his eldest son.