She thought that it would cramp her style
to write in such a way
– to think in quatrains all the while
would surely spoil her day?
‘Free-flowing stuff’, she’s heard to sigh,
‘would be a waste of time’,
to meet the brief she’d have to try
to get her ode to rhyme.
She finds that it is not much fun
to wrack her puny brain
when counting iambs one by one
to make up each quatrain.
She’s got more guts than she’s aware,
nothing’s gonna beat her,
she knows that judgment will be fair
– it’s just a case of meter …..