In Which Arrogance and Irony Collide

My comments may be lacrymose, assaulting your redoubt
All I wish is to evince you,
of your lackadaisical efforts

Don't go incommunicado, just because I was effusive
Just render yourself supine 
and listen to my veritable review

The work is sallow, that is true, an unguent
Is needed to cool this rash of failings
There's a homograph for you
Though I'll doubt you'll notice.

I'm arrogant, that's plain to see
My talent is a fantasy
The last two lines rhyme A and B
Look what I did there, did you see?

Free-verse, rhyme, meter, form,
A lack of rhythm from above
Syllables cramping my style
To sleep, after another mile
A nod to the great Robert Frost
Amongst this sturm und drang of dross

It's all a joke, this game we play
Better, worse, who is this prick?
To judge me when
his work is adequate.

The End

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