I need to write poem;
It really has to rhyme.
If I don’t write a poem,
within ten minutes time
My life will be all over –
I will have failed the test
No matter that I have a four-leaved clover
Or that I made a most special bequest
To Apollo, god of poems
(Actually, rumours say that he is one of the worst).
All of my stratagems
Even my cry of “I was coerced!”
Have been reduced to whining syllables
That just want to go hide and rest.
So I have been reduced to writing small capsules
Of sound for this oppressive test.
Will I succeed?
That, only you can tell. So debate, and then accede
Whether ’tis done well, or whether it just delves
Into the levels that few have trodden
For fear that their lyrics become sodden
I have no such fear –
(Because really, how bad can you get?)
– I’ve certainly had worse
Just read this over, dear
And if you like, tell me it is worth a purse.