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'.
© 2006 by Michael J. Farrand


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