Cozenage be vein of her parsimony
deciphering unlikely by any logician
witchcraft concealed in metrical composition
She jerks one’s tears with great acrimony
as selfish rhymes sings no just harmony

Carefully she devises alliterative pull
this to an ear, dare sound enchanting
how known better be most common ranting
Twists words with lilt but not essence full
leaving some to say, “such pulled wool”

Speaketh she, as from long faraway world
this strange poetess be not one at all
seasoned sailor know she blow tall squall
Serpent’s tongue flailing and twice twirled
young sailor I suggest, keep sails securely furled