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I'm sorry I can't write free verse,

          That all my poems rhyme,

          It's not that it is easier

Or that I have the time

To organise in metric form,

          Make each ending ring,

          It's just that it comes out this way

And I can't do a thing

To stop it; but then why should I

          When it seems to fit

          Both what I think and what I feel

And that's beside the wit

Which often flows when playing games

          With ideas, words and puns

          That tumble out upon the page

As each line runs and runs.

So I hope that you'll forgive

          This antique sense of style

          Hoping that, for a short time,

It helped to make you smile.

Written in five minutes while waiting for the train at Wickford

Brian Hick May 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 19.5.23