The Fad Of Free Verse

Oh! Rhyme is rhyme, free verse, free verse
And never, the twain shall meet
Would a stray sentence, match an elegance terse
It ain’t poetry, if it ain’t short and sweet!

Who versify, a spent newspaper
Who deify prose, to exalted death
Don’t fathom the stir, of a soft whisper
Who falsify, Shakespeare’s ‘Macbeth’!

If poesy’s passé, and prose new régime
What’s left of that time, that art of past?
When we choose, to blemish, and blaspheme
Those labors lost, of a legacy aghast!

Shall we yearn no more, for cuckoo’s coo?
When sweet sounds, the doggerel, of dreary slurs
Shall we sell our souls, to an ode untrue?
Bid a bequest adieu, for The Fad Of Free Verse!

© 2017 Vikas Chandra

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