CONTRARY

CONTRARY A poem personified, it could be me Yet to embrace analysis, I am averse Words should flow at their own pace Precise syllable counts are a disgrace And a volta can be an empty purse So, it’s a simple structure, you see Is a stanza really more than a verse It always depends on the poetic form It one appeals to me, then I’m on it Whether Scupham verse or a sonnet But free verse conjours up a storm And mixed case words are a curse Apologies to all the purists out there I never wanted to be so constrained Rhyme is Okay, especially masculine As slant rhymes should go in the bin It loses something when explained But I’ll try and write better, I swear