Two weavers warned the emperor, the clothes
they'd made for him could not be seen by those
unfit for their careers, incompetent,
or fencepost dumb. So dressed, this right fine gent,
went out before the town. So not to seem
moronic or inane, the townsfolk feigned
to love his dazzling duds. The weaver's scheme
was busted when a six year old complained
"His willy shows and wiggles like a snake!"
Much modern verse is dung, and 'raw-jawed stream
of consciousness'; the worst. A rhymer's stake
jammed in its heart might seem a bit extreme,
but poetry, it's not. That noble art
wears rhyme and meter verse around its heart.