Isn’t it grand to be rhyming,
To follow the flow and the swell
Of the metre, the pitch and the timing
The cadences falling and climbing,
The syllables clear as a bell,
Isn’t it grand to be rhyming
With the ever-melodious chiming
Of fruits from the bottomless well
Of the metre, the pitch and the timing,
That hone words with polish and priming,
Revealing their magical spell.
Isn’t it grand to be rhyming
With language that soars to subliming
In the places where harmonies dwell
With the metre, the pitch and the timing.
Of poem-styles that harmonize well,
My favourite is the Villanelle.
Yes, it’s grand to be rhyming,
With the metre, the pitch and the timing.
Frances O’Keeffe
