This poem,
during an enjambment, was shot down over elegy lines, in no-bard’s-land,
this poem
was captured by a prose patrol on an anti-tanka exercise,
this poem,
had attended the Arvon escape-and-evasion course, so that
this poem
was well-versed in survival techniques, which was fortunate, because
this poem,
having had its assonance kicked, was penned in a prisoner-of-word camp, from which
this poem,
declining to be end-stopped, bolted, fought off its pursuers with heroic couplets, until
this poem
made it back across the border, on its own feet, in the nick of rhyme.