A Poet Goes To The Doctor Poem by John Thorkild Ellison

'Doctor, doctor! Can't you help me please?
I'm suffering from a dreadful disease,
A rhyming disorder, and what makes it worse,
I can't help speaking or writing in verse! !

These sleepless nights of alliteration
Are causing me such consternation,
The assonance too is making me ill -
Please give me a potion or some kind of pill! ! '

'Calm down, my friend, no need to worry, '
The doctor replied, 'Don't be in a hurry, -
I've got the answer, - a good dose of prose
By the dullest of authors, everyone knows,
Will speedily remedy your inspiration
By giving you TWO YEARS of verbal constipation! !

You can say goodbye to your fluent verse
As your poetry goes from bad to worse,
Don't change your mind and run to your Muse,
She won't grant your prayers, she'll simply refuse! !

Poetry is always a pain in the *rse,
But I promise you your illness will pass,
You'll just be a bore like the rest of us,
Scansion and metre? What an awful fuss! ! '