The essence of poetry Said Robert Frost Is that in translation Which gets lost But yowlers to this Pay no heed Raw words to them Is poetry indeed
To them today It does appeal To write about Just how they feel Lying in bed What comes to head Then arrange in lines Of two, three, four There’s no pleasure In poetry anymore
Rhyme now stinks Faces uncertainty Stares at it Banshee A new system’s being Advocated now Where rhyme’s not needed Anyhow A new world order I suppose Where Toddlers would memorize Nursery prose!
