Another Poem Without a Prize
Another poem without a prize
The lines don’t rhyme, don’t satisfy
Poems with horizons and blazing clouds
Winners write with floating shrouds
These rhyming predicts take me back
To kinder days on railroad tracks
You see, you see, I can rhyme, too
My words can swirl an awful brew
But me, I’d rather not construe
Rhymes for poems to ballyhoo
At last, all ye, I do respect
Your words in glory, your idiolect
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