I’m Nineteenth Century in my thoughts and style,
and writing rhyme and meter is my forte.
But lately from this pattern I have strayed,
and other styles I now have dared to court.
A Triolet at first I thought might be
Three flowers in a violet bouquet
A Vllanelle sounds like a fine French wine
And Clerihews I haven’t learned to say.
The rules of the Sestina are quite strict
This gave me, I’ll admit, the hardest time
It made me feel quite naked, without clothes
Because this style required I use no rhyme.
The Glosa and the Kenning , too, I ve tried
I met the challenges and felt I knew them.
But if my memory curve is factored in,
I may tomorrow find that I can’t do them.