"Stick with quantitative verse
For fear of finding something worse."
-- Higgins / Belloc
Once (or twice) upon a time,
some lines of verse began to rhyme.
It happen'd here, or was it there...?
I've never quite been certain where.
Where'er, it were a happ'ning rare.
Where'er, it were a happ'ning rare.
Before then, lines of all our songs
were sung in feet -- some shorts, some longs.
Before, each line in meters beat --
a rumbling thunder, tumbling feet
behind the hills, across the street.
Before then, assonance was king.
Alliteration did its thing.
This rush of consonants 'n' vow'ls
enliven'd elegies 'n' growls,
quintillas, limericks 'n' howls.
Then sev'ral times (or just the once)
occur'd an unexpected bunce:
Some someone (none recall a name)
began to play a rhyming game.
An' since then shit all sounds the same.
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