Pedantically Poetical
I'm pedantic and picky
Perfectionist-icky
About all the metre and rhyming.
I really can't help it
I can't, I''m part-phobic.
I just have to get right the timing.
With one syllable out of place
I'd just have to go hide my face.
Oh NO!
You see what I just did?
The metre adjusted!
I'll have to rehearse
Or switch to blank verse.
But
Byron and Shelley
Would think this was smelly
And poor.
No doubt they would show me
The door.
Accept I'm obsessive
I can't be progressive
I'll always be trying
Until I am crying,
For that perfect rhythm
Even if it's hidden...
Oh no, what a duff rhyme.
If it takes a lifetime
I'll get it right
For that is my plight....
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THE GOODS
You're currently reading a chapter in the story
The Day I Broke Up With Poetry. This chapter
was posted on September 6, 2008 by
Tasha_Noble.
This is a collaborative story.
This story is filed under:
Just for Fun, Poetry
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