Death to the Light Brigade. Death to Lord Tennyson.
Death to the triplet's low titty, tum-titty.
Who needs form anyway? Who'd miss the roundelay?
Death to the dactyl and metrical ditty!
Into the mouth of hell cast every villanelle
save me their tercets (albeit they're witty).
Spare the repeated line, spare me at roundel time.
Death to the dactyl and popular ditty.
Derail the rattling train, give me the aeroplane,
sleepers are not the same on Inter-City.
Sod every skipping rhyme, sparkling or anodyne.
Death to the dactyl and rhythmical ditty.
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Bring on post-modern verse, poetry at its worst?
Rudderless twaddle, though sometimes it's pretty.
Pattern is not a sin, neither is discipline!
Up with the dactyl and triplety ditty.