the rain rattled the rusty roof

and i pondered penning a poem

i carefully considered a crucial concept

the ingenious inclusion of intense alliteration

to tell trite tales of the tall tall trees.

but this painstaking process was proving problematic

for can i convey a correct critique

of the swinging swaying solitary sycamore

if i'm forced to follow this format?

so i sat in a seat in the sauna heat,

to ask if this task was a worthy feat,

to ask if the process id previously prescribed

was adequate enough to help me describe,

and suddenly came to a callous conclusion,

this crass confusion of consonant fusion,

was such an illusion, such an intrusion,

and so the solution, to end this pollution,

was rhyming profusely,

sometimes quite loosely.

but when put to the test,

it turned out to be quite a mess,

the rhyming of words,

was proving absurd,

i'll try something else for the rest.

All the while I sat

The rain kept thundering on

I could not hear but

I wrote in sevens and fives

Until it was gone

And o the trees, in their newfound freedom,

Recovering from the attack,

A thousand rain bullets per second,

Had found their way to the ground.

And betwixt the sodden branches of war,

New shards of hope, by beacons of light,

The torches of victory shone through once again,

As a new day swept the land.

then my mind grew weary,

and thus became my pen,

it ceased to govern the words it spewed,

i started to rhyme again,

a new concern arose,

a bud i had to nip,

towards alliteration,

i suddenly started to slip.

alas, can you believe,

below my restless quill,

i was laying lines linked by letters,

and rhyming with such skill.

be gone, reckless habit!

your guiding of my tongue

cant do this moment justice but

will always be more fun.