Go against the flow, when you need to be fast be slow

When they want it high-brow take it low as it can go.

Be carefree and watch your speed, there really is no need

To plant a poetic seed and sit and watch it bleed.


Beware the easy rhyme coming at the end-line

On words we'll dine, if a poem is to be mine.

We'll mash them up, crash and break and smash

Of metre make an uncomfortable, salty hash.


Salt for the tears poets have wept down the years

So proud to show their fears to their fleeing peers

I read, words written of dread in crimson red

From the heart and never from the head.


Some things are better left unsaid







The End

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