The Problem With Prose

The rock-steady beat of rhyming verse

I start with a line
Little pastime of mine
Then the pressure to rhyme is intense
Each phrase is a fight
Twenty pencils a night
Till it’s tight but it mightn’t make sense

Well I can’t raise a laugh
With a prose paragraph
I’d be dull for a page and a half
Verse is concise
Here a joke would be nice
Eight syllables, ends in giraffe

Everyone knows
That the problem with prose
Is that it doesn’t rhyme or scan and what would be the point of that?

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