Our Gert allus moans

At all of my poems

She says as the all sound the same;

Just tum-titty-tum

And tum-titty-tum

And tum-titty-tum again.

 

When she complains

I try to explain

I’m finding my feet as a bard;

But she says as my verse

Is getting much worse;

So I’m finding it ever so hard.

 

She says what I need

Is I ought to read

The Masters down literature’s line

She says “Not much beats

John Donne and John Keats

And Shakespeare for rhythm and rhyme”.

 

I’d never contest

That Our Gert knows best

In matters of everything

She’ll heap on the praise

And forcibly says

That Shakespeare was poetry’s king.

 

Iambic pentameters

That Shakespeare wrote

Blank verse as a rule of thumb,

And 14 line sonnets

And 5 Act plays

But he couldn’t do tum-titty-tum.