You call this poetry? she said,
Why, a child, I say, a child —
Perhaps it sounds better than it looks.
Read it. Read it! Aloud and in a voice
Speaking of gold and purple banners,
Of the soaring falcon above his prey.
Dont just use your usual voice,
And dont slump your shoulders.
No, that’s no good, she said,
No good at all. The metres all wrong
And is it supposed to rhyme?
Nobody writes rhyming poetry anymore.
And what are you trying to say?