I always thought it was a crime
to make a poem rhyme,
but I’ve done it ten times this week.
It’s too tempting to ask why
when you say goodbye
and then to turn to the sky
and maybe have a little cry.
It’s trite, at best, but many of the best
have done it and done it well and I’m learning.
Whenever a line leads to you,
I think of Sylvia and how she told of his
‘love of the rack and the screw,’
how he ‘bit her pretty red heart in two,’
how rhyme can sometimes help us find
the words that are the most true.