much easier scaring crows across a field
than marching twelve-point roman soldiers off
the page with no brain to strategize verse
into these pretty little boxes called
sonnets. rhyme comes accidental often
but seldom when one wants to, especially
when one hasn’t a brain . . . perhaps we could
ask lion or the tinman — dorothy
surely knows a lyric from childhood. my
instincts speak of nothing but crows, dark omen
for one who wishes to pen poetry.
but then again, perhaps heart is apter
to spout iambs than is brain, sentiment
being there unhindered by good judgment.
David M Pitchford
22 May 2012