To Rhyme Or Not To Rhyme
They say that rhyme is out of time
With what's in vogue today.
Rhythmic flow has lost its charm
And verse has lost its way.
I think about Maud Muller's spring:
The frenzied ride of Paul Revere.
And Poe who lies there slowly turning,
In his moldy grave . . I fear.
Then comes a harsh and angry bellow,
Rhyming with the name Longfellow.
Lest we forget his young maiden’s plight,
Lashed to that mast on a cold winter night.
I love old tales once told in rhyme:
Those odes that won’t grow old with time.
They tease my brain with ticklish thought:
Can leave me laughing . . or maybe naught.
So I will choose “the road less traveled,”
At least throughout this dwindling day.
Receiving scant acclaim from fellows,
Nor reaping high and lofty praise.
But rather as my heartstrings dictate,
Exempt from modern poetic climes.
I’ll tell my tales as those before me,
With guileless words bedecked in rhyme.
© 2015 Diane Lefebvre
Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015
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