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Raise the Bar The punctuation's perfect. The theme as clear as glass. The meter and the rhyme scheme no other could surpass. Insightful permutations abound within the lines. The critics can't deny them, like old and storied wines. Oh how our wretched pens refuse the muse's call. Oh how thoes thoughts that bind divide our critiques, all. Just what emphatic ditty will raise the critic's bar? How long till we see eights and nines, instead of lowly fours? Oh yes, there's no perfection. No Shelly or no Keats. Not to mention Milton, Shakespeare Johnson, Yeats. But we mere mortal poets, occasionally ring the bell; touch heartstrings, minds and senses, and make the spirit swell. It's only one or two points, I grant you nothing more. Still it takes two and threesees with fives to average fours. |
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