Poorformance Poet
Heard about this sonnet writer with this problem
enumerate chap could not count up to fourteen.
He gilded his verses with thees, thous and thines
though he saw a poem of perfection reality fell a
mite in between. No matter how exquisite wording
might be they lacked the requisite number of lines.
Frustrated he decided to switch his selected form
but all the two line haikus and three line cinquains
penned did not sadly conform to the poetry world's
pedantic expectations. A quintissential piece of art
he fathered he pared, an essence of romance caught
he thought, down to minimum as this his curt couplet
goes: "Shall I compare thee." "Oh!" as readers retort
not only plagiaristic but one vital essential line short
"Couplet indeed! There's another wee bit," they snort,
"needed," especially the Scots, "Rabbi'd hoot yer oot
of our hoose you goose ay McGonigle hisself e'en he
would be ashamed." Under kilts they were getting a bit
hottish and unlikely to be able to sustain this strain of
cod-Scottish any longer. Ah - returning to the brief and
with some relief, oh yes our amateur poet - remember
if you will his enumeracy, well pentameter's all askew,
wrote like in his legs he had three left feet or even four.
Give a meter take a meter he was completely meritless,
mixed metric and imperial and every useless metaphor.