A little diddy I wrote to make fun of myself
I can't rhyme
Why should words of a feather
Want to flock together?
When the structure is cumbersome
My words seem to lumber some
I can't rhyme
I can put words in a box
Shake and dump on the floor
If they sound like some rocks
Then I'll shake them some more
I can't rhyme
I can't serve two masters
One of them must go
The firsters and lasters
If the feelings will show
I can't rhyme
To rhyme is such a struggle
It limits the words
I feel like a muggle
Alone in the herds
I can't rhyme
I run from the room
When I hear a pantoum
And what in the hell
Is a villanelle?
I can't rhyme
I can write of:
a solitary fairy, T'yan, drifting into the forest, terribly alone. She blamed herself for her own shortcomings and for T'yee's death. She went on this way for years, friendless, forlorn, with no possessions apart from a single quill. She wrote amazing, terrifying poetry on the wilting leaves of the undergrowth. She stopped flying and her light had grown nearly too dim to see. She was alone.
Unforgiven and alone.
But I can't rhyme