A fear to assert words in lines
That aren’t guided by the Drum of Rhyme
Prevents my pen from flowing free—
Producing reams for all to see.

Verses marching row by row,
Metered missiles sure in tow.
What wretched works! All deafened by
The unrelenting Drum of Rhyme.

In dreams above the horde I climb
And shout over the Drum of Rhyme:
“Drop your arms and wander wide,
Forget decorum—improvise!”

Awake I find the ranks unstirred,
Still plowing onwards as a herd.
My pen amongst them prints in time;
I too, march to the Drum of Rhyme.