He tried to make his verse rhyme

But it became worser and worser.

‘Twas perverse

To see

Dog rhyme with tree.

He cudgelled his brains to produce poetry fine

And was convinced beer rhymes with wine.

Inspiration from the great poets he took

And was certain Emily Dickinson

Was Brontae’s sister

And Heathcliff could not resist her.

Finally from the top of Wuthering Heights

He jumped

Hitting the moors with a plop

But his bad poems

Just would not halt.

It was his very great fault

He did not decease

And leave his readers in tranquillity!