The reason I employ this rack of rhyme
and meter is not to torture my poor brain,
but curiously to reach for the sublime
and seem to do so with no sweat or strain.
But more than that, there is a liberty
in this constraint, quite paradoxical:
with fewer choices left, I’m now set free
from multiplicity—I’ve less to mull.
That’s from my point of view, but now from yours:
are you not happier to traipse and trip
along a jaunty path that now allures
you with the mystery of Serendip?
Who knows where you might go, or where you’ll end
when on this mode of magic you depend?