Until late, poems meant but rhyming words;
Without the rhyme they seemed utter nonsense.
I would read through Birches or Mending Wall,
And wonder how they were poems at all?
The worst part of this all being that in
School this apparent anomaly was
Not even discussed. Infuriates me.
My sincere thanks- that wretched lit course,
For teaching me at least this much in time
That it always is not about the rhyme.
I wish now to be a Birch swinger too.