The crowd

As I work on poem galore,
I ponder for the crowd got more.
One man joins with uneven record,
the other one is a complete nerd.
They gather round the bastard's sport,
in which is a game with much hurt.
Two more have joined a crowd Galore,
This time a lady looking of a whore.
Her hair is uneven as if had just woken.
But my train of though will not be broken.
The crowd gets less and less from what it is.
As the time is over, yes it tis.
Yet more join the newly found crowd,
I refuse to say a thing a loud.
another man watches over my shoulder.
As I type these words I begin the holler,
"Stop thy folly people relinquish your crowd,
less I scream once again, out in loud!"
As thy foolish men and women rather in the crowd.