It's been almost 500 years since poetry in English reached
Its highest point. Oh, to have been mesmerized by works
Of Donne or Sydney, or of Shakespeare, Spenser, Milton
At the time, before decay set in, and lesser minds, and tick-
Tock rhymes so cheapened their exquisite art. The rhymes,
At last, were cast aside, but, subsequently, self-indulgence,
Inside jokes, and suicidal babble moved toward center stage,
And almost everybody left. Our poets now see empty seats,
And, honestly, they lack the means to coax the disillusioned
Back. The art may not be wholly dead, but it's become
Degenerate, like something oozing through the streets 500
Years ago.