I need to make a point in iambic verse,
and deck out its complexities in rhyme;
but yet two lines have passed, and what is worse,
the third and fourth are passing me in time.
This is getting chronic. Why can't I make
a point? Or open a deep theme to trial?
Cooks can do better; they can bake a cake.
Babies surpass this jitter with a smile.
Right, now. Deepen the issue with a dark quatrain
What dark quatrain? It's another fine mess!
The rain in Spain falls mainly down a drain.
We're near the end, and nowhere, I confess.
The twist is this, and never shall it miss,
that you and I will always lead to bliss.
..................................
Anima: Just stall 'em Gong.
Gong: OK OK. I play for time?
YOU ARE READING
Keep The Home Fires Burning
PoetryA poetry Collection. Now Lunk has taken to his bed, swearing not to write one more word about C, and muttering 'bloody garden', it behoves (Love that word, don't you?) me (and Anima) to fill out his shoes, with soil and flower seed. So we will be 'e...
