pa, pabulum, pace, pacemaker

My pa was a gifted writer,
And a poet to boot.
He wrote poems that were lighter,
And lift you up, they were a hoot.

His pace was fast and easy,
His topics were not pubulums.
They were cute and a bit teasy,
Clever and never dumb.

Like a pace maker, he’d catch a skipped beat.
Guide you along; make you tap your feet.
Rhythm was in his blood, whether a poem or song,
I could listen to my pa recite all day ‘n night long.