Where has the rhyme gone?
The tool of my trade is
The language of rhyme
And it seems that I
Am out of my time
Perhaps if I write
Of moods
And blues
And clouds of grey
I can find my way
To prose
For that’s what it is –
this un-rhyming verse
Desired by the press.
And if I dare to suggest
A sonnet, rondel
Or a sweet villanelle
I’m rejected
Dejected
De-pressed.
It’s here to stay –
You can choose to believe
That it flows.
But I would say
This prose of yours
May be clever, but it bores me.
It doesn’t scan
It’s got uneven stanzas
And most of the time
I don’t understand it
-there’s no fun.
I’m done.