A Cuppa Is Fine Poem by Douglas Scotney

If, after frustration and curses
for thirteen eight line verses,
all those verses
rhyme a-a-a-b-c-c-c-b,
you can be proud
and an appreciative crowd
can applaud out loud
and shout you something stronger than tea.

Unless, but for the rhyme it's weak,
or by rhyme's demands it's made weak,
with the likes of 'sheik',
when it's set in Roman Pompeii.
'Thirteen verses' in verse one, I said.
For 'thirteen', 'two' can be read.
Rhyming more than a twain I dread.
Besides, a cuppa is fine by me.