Stick in the mud.

Stop it Stephen Fry, you know very well that any time you write something clever in a traditional form I'm going to give that form a go.


Whaddya mean I can just stop reading the Goddamn book?


I balance on the quivering edge
Of a violin's taught string
Solemn, I peer over the ledge
                         A curious thing


I have a finger in every basket
But few eggs to give
Come with me to the casket
                         But I yet live


You sound just like that other one
Frustrating, talking, complaining
Oh, but they're all so fun
                         It starts raining


I fear I've forced this whole collection
The words herein are worthless, less
'Twas worth the dissection?
                         I suppose, God bless