Frost free’d that beast long way round.
Blake did made us wonder why.
Dickinson made us to see the ways of the verse.
Only Plath made a way in my heart,
to make something more in my hearts content,
can make sense of all,
that i still
give in to my need
of the verses, tenses, quips to quos
and stanzas that iambic notions of quatrains.
and yes oh yes, made me
more to be a whore of the world of;
Poetically inclined and declined.