Poe could never leave well enough alone
And the wasteland of words can kill the soul
Just as Browning hid her love like a stone
Masquerading Shakespeare's whom the bells toll
As one acquainted with night, counting rhymes
When Keats or Yeats pen a massive 10 line
To spellbound readers a million more times
Til Phantasm and melancholy pine
Away in silent swoon from poem bliss
Which caresses psyche to thunder pulse
By whisper breath of sweet worded kiss!
Oh, how rages the maddening impulse!
Mortals be not proud, O colossal wreck!
Verse is a changeling, not a phantom speck!
Topic(s) of this poem: rhyme
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