The Poet

The poet is a creature fey
Who dreams up clever rhymes all day
And always uses words outré
To woo his lover.

He walks upon iambic feet,
Inflects his speech with dactyls neat;
His heart throbs with trochaic beat
And leaps in spondee.

Beware his amphibrachic smiles
Or whispered catalectic wiles;
A muse unwary he beguiles
With every sonnet.

If he should offer you amor,
Heroic couplets by the score,
Poetic licenses galore–
Give him caesura.

by Matthew Hanna