Though mathematics is no strength of mine,
I still prefer to write this kind of line,
A line in numbers neatly measured out.
Where others let their language gush and spout,
My tempered metrics make my thoughts proceed
Apace when thought and sound have well agreed,
And greater ingenuity ensues
When rhyme restricts my choice, yet proffers cues.
The freedom of Free Verse is chaos’ course,
Erratic babbling without meter’s force
Or rhyming’s chime that makes a poem song,
For in a lyric such effects belong.
What makes a line of verse know where to turn
Should be the poet’s first and last concern.
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