The Iambic well is a writer’s Hell
It has captured many a poet
And often those not on their toes
Fall in before they know it

Through forty years of smiles and tears
I’ve struggled to avoid it
I’ve danced around that killing ground
Which only just annoyed it

So it sent out a water spout
That grabbed me by the ankle
I fought it off and lived to scoff
Which caused that well to rankle

I got away but to this day
I find my lines Iambic
It’s such a shame my verse is lame
I’d hoped it would be tantric.
ljm