I like the way the rhythm sounds,
the way the stresses make their rounds.
These scattered phrases have their beat,
but still they trip on their own feet.
Iamb a poet without a cause,
a rebel p(r)oser who’ll take a pause
at any offer to count or pounce
or measure syllables by the ounce.
Let’s give our bouncing pens a break,
count only blessings, for goodness sake.
prompted by quickly.