“Poetry Competition!”
If my poetry was to compete
it would need the fastest feet,
and a training scheme complete
with a diet quite effete,
with pasta, and ne’er a sweet;
and single-mindedly greet
the chaffinch from the wheat
(Whatever that means)
and keep its competence discreet,
not like sheep who have to bleat,
and it will all the others beat,
and lay in glories most replete.
If, that is, it didn’t just one rhyme repeat—
Graeme Sandford 