It was about time I finished the collection off I thought so I did, today. I was, frankly, rather bored. They are all of the same pattern:
Ta da da da da da da dah
Ta diddle-ee-diddle-ee-dee
Ta da da da da da da dah
Ta diddle-ee-diddle-ee-dee
He rhymes 'aye' and 'day' a lot, and 'heaven' with 'even'. It's said he called his second collection Last Poems because he felt he'd run out of poetic inspiration. Sadly, I think he was right.
Anyway, here's some more of my own dog-eared, slant-rhymed doggerel:
Exmoor Sheep
They have learned not to fear the cars, which speed
through like missiles from Porlock or Minehead
to Ilfracombe or Combe Martin. Heads
might go up, hopefully, but soon return to cropping
grass, chewing and stripping
the blades. Yet approach them, stalking
wolf-like through heather and bracken, or over
tumili, and they will scatter. And I wonder:
What makes them think the man with a weapon
less fearsome than the man without?
