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All For a Rhyme

Here was a famous poet
Who spoke bland prose
Of course he rhymed it
And also perfect-timed it
With a lovely yellow rose
Beside the garden hose.
When he just blinked
The glasses straightaway clinked
Celebrating, celebrating
Cerebrating and calibrating.
His best poet friend winked
Two times over the nose.
Celebrating, cerebrating
And simply prating.
When not inebriating.
Pardon for grammar goofups
They land me in real stickups
Don’t ask me why nose
It rhymed so well with prose.
He was no mountain goat
He got all his meters by rote.
He thought hard and hard
Just like the famous bard
But nothing would emerge
Except a solitary dirge
A really sad, sad dirge
Followed by tears in a splurge.
No one was really dead
For rhyme his friend lay dead
On the ancestral threepost bed.
The bedpost promptly tilted
As his lover’s flowers wilted
And she promptly felt jilted.
She hit him hard on the brow
What would she do anyhow ?
She then gluck-glucked as if in mime
Utterly fizzy soda and lime
For the sake of instant rhyme.

AJ Rao 
May 9, 2004

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