SEE ALL TAGS & MOODS
Iambic pentameter that doesn’t follow a fixed rhyme scheme.
My father’s green Pontiac
for auntie nagasaki
it's the same story
told again & again
the modulations
& the machinations
the maudlin
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match’d with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font.
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
