THE WORLD'S GREATEST POEM
For so long I've contemplated|
(just since morning, but
great things are overstated)
How to write 'The World's Greatest Poem'.
Of rhyming schemes I have plenty|
To choose among, to pick from
Each framing the greatness of my words
To strike my felt-rhythm like a drum.
If I were a writer of old|
Of Greek I'd toss a sprinkle
Into the present time dimension
To introduce a Classic wrinkle.
Latin, too, for benefit of Romans|
Whose spirit in all of us survives
I'll have to go look up some
It so the dusty passions revives.
By end of such, the reading aloud|
All women in attendance must cry
Rip their hankies thusly in twain
The only question on their lips: 'Why, why, why?'
The men, not given to such outbursts|
Would at least imagine fighting somewhere
Gallantly, but only in their minds
Understanding why men die on a dare.
But what do I understand of such|
Or even the greatest writer
What the artist knows, it isn't much
At best a God-expediter.
In the end I know but little of|
The writing of world's greatest poems
I pen but silly ditties on Love
Full of 'ums', 'ers', 'uhs', and 'ems'.