MEASURING UP

        Most poetry today (or what’s called that)
        By ancient standards fails to measure up
        And, lacking rhyme and meter, it sounds flat,
        Straggling when it ought to march: hup! hup!

        Then, without rhymes, it’s lost a source of wit
        And the anticipated happiness
        Of watching the deft poet leap and hit
        The mark he set with evident success.

        But even more, adhering to a form,
        Though tedious and mechanical to some
        Who have not felt imagination warm
        Till in a fervent flash the right words come,

             Turns out to be divine invention’s key,
             The timeless source of lasting poetry.

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