So was it worth the hours that I spent
Constructing this entirely pointless verse?
Does having done it make me feel content?
On balance I would argue the reverse.
There aren’t that many poets you’d coerce
To try this silly form: I underwent
A task to which most others are averse.
So was it worth the hours that I spent?
A pair of rhymes inflicts extreme torment,
And working with refrains is even worse.
I wasn’t like a pig in excrement
Constructing this entirely pointless verse.
Be careful of how deeply you immerse
Yourself in one of these or you’ll be sent
Insane and need a psychiatric nurse.
Does having done it make me feel content?
You’d think expending all that effort meant
I’d glean some satisfaction: this occurs
To you, perhaps, as quite self-evident.
On balance I would argue the reverse.
I don’t write classy stuff for connoisseurs
Or readers of a more cerebral bent,
But most of my daft doggerel incurs
Less work than this pathetic non-event.
So was it worth the hours?