A/N: Okay, this is prose poetry, where I have as far as possible tried to write the entire poem in inverted syntax – which is basically the grammar of Yoda.

I’ve never seen all the Star Wars movies, so please let me know if there’s anything I could improve on Yoda’s speech pattern!


Yoda he wished to be.

Little he was, when Yoda he saw; as television was watched.

From that moment on, like Yoda he spoke, all attempts to change him he refused.

It was because of his parents’ divorce his shrink him told, but that wasn’t true he knew.

Yoda he’d seen, Yoda he wanted to be, immediately realized this he did.

To be wise he wanted, a lover of peace – nothing like his parent’s constant yelling.

At them he looked, and at Yoda he looked, quite simple was the choice.

His face he coloured, every chance he got, brought a huge stick he did everywhere he walked.

Like Yoda he’d be, when up he grew.

With how he talked he’d start.

So the words he switched, and like his hero he sounded.

Despaired his parents felt, complained his teachers did.

But listened to himself he did, and Yoda he heard, and smiled he did.

Yoda I am.

Yoda I am.

Shout it in the night he would.

Tried to shush him his parents did.

Listen he did not.

How could he, when his Luke he’d find?

A question of time it was.

Doubt for a second he never did.

For every sentence he said, a bit closer he got, for found in his heart his ambitions were.

And though to speak proper English he was told.

He could speak as he chose, he knew.

Yoda he chose, over yelling adults, and his choice I quite understand.

To tell this story, who I am?

Quite simple the answer is.

That person of wisdom I am.

So much of me you’ve heard.

                                                           Yoda I am.

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