You've never penned
A greater hit.
For weeks on end,
You've sat on it,
And countless times,
In self-critiques,
You've burnished rhymes
With clever tweaks.
Your poem's sans
Defect: It flows.
It rhymes. It scans.
It's so non-prose,
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No redesign
Could better it.
You go online.
You press 'Submit' ...
Then comes the crunch:
Grey cells invent
A better punch
Line than you sent!
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