Let us look forward now towards free verse
And ignore those ten syllables and rhymes
You know that too much structure is a curse
And being loose is all that counts at times.
So bollocks to the rigid sonnet form
Iambic pentameter's days are done
There's nothing here that keeps a fellow warm
Like spouting bits of free verse at the sun.
So put down those traditions that we had
The sonnet's shrivelled up and turned to grey
And now there's nothing that is quite so sad
As show-offs with their rhymes all on display.
So pack your bags and come along with me
Into a world where verse and man are free.
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