What the title says. Blame Adam Warne.
I love a poet who is prone to laughter,
For mirth can cover most of Poesy's slight crimes -
But happily I'll put to death and slaughter
A poet who just overuses sight rhymes.
'Cos while the eye-rhyme's often fun to read,
It jars a bit when actually it's said -
They only really work when in your head.
So visual-rhyming poets, please take heed:
I want no guilt at my own doorstep laid -
It's not my fault if you end up puréed.
Or maybe, better yet - I'll go and comb
The internet for ways to make a bomb,
To send you wanton wordsmiths to your tomb.
But worry not, O poets, don't you frown:
Don't run and hide, a-trembling in your fear.
This poem mostly proves the fault's my own -
That fitting cap is one that I should wear.