The book was thick. I had to flick through inches till I found
what I recall as best of all. Pronouncing every sound,
I read again the lines from when I felt my interest heat
(and ever since, my fingerprints tattoo to meter’s beat).
Some critics scoffed asserting it was doggerel or worse.
The writer countered, okay it’s not poetry but verse.
The first were snobs who did bad jobs, the latter too effacing.
There’s nothing daft about fine craft with good motif and pacing.