A Meeting
Once Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay
Was walking on a sunny day,
Enjoyed the grass that touch'd his knees
And who he saw among the trees
If not Professor Long.
“How can you possibly be here?
It is so very wrong!
Our measures rather interfere,
We cannot get along,
O Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay!”
“A measure only fools a fool,
'Tis nothing but a helpful tool,
And you, my friend, you may be free
From iambic verse, ABAB,
Professor Lingvus Long!”
“Well! Art is art, you can't deny,
Don't have to think a lot:
Your words are rhymed in plain “Ay, Ay”s,
In couplets you are caught,
Eh, Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay?”
“The couplets are a pleasing place,
All full of easiness and grace;
But let remind you once again:
It's just a shape, it's but a game,
My dear Lingvus Long”
“But can you take away the form,
Abridge “The Raven”'s wings?
But would you dare to spill the storm
And leave the harmless thing,
You, Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay?”
“A poem is somehow strict,
But it's not frowned to rig;
A poem is a solid burst -
It's just you have to write it first,
La-Lee-Lo-Lingvus Long!”
Professor Long accept'd the hand,
The two were minting merry poems;
The time ran like the whitest sand
Until the very crimson dawn.
Was walking on a sunny day,
Enjoyed the grass that touch'd his knees
And who he saw among the trees
If not Professor Long.
“How can you possibly be here?
It is so very wrong!
Our measures rather interfere,
We cannot get along,
O Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay!”
“A measure only fools a fool,
'Tis nothing but a helpful tool,
And you, my friend, you may be free
From iambic verse, ABAB,
Professor Lingvus Long!”
“Well! Art is art, you can't deny,
Don't have to think a lot:
Your words are rhymed in plain “Ay, Ay”s,
In couplets you are caught,
Eh, Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay?”
“The couplets are a pleasing place,
All full of easiness and grace;
But let remind you once again:
It's just a shape, it's but a game,
My dear Lingvus Long”
“But can you take away the form,
Abridge “The Raven”'s wings?
But would you dare to spill the storm
And leave the harmless thing,
You, Zanzi-mari-toosi-nay?”
“A poem is somehow strict,
But it's not frowned to rig;
A poem is a solid burst -
It's just you have to write it first,
La-Lee-Lo-Lingvus Long!”
Professor Long accept'd the hand,
The two were minting merry poems;
The time ran like the whitest sand
Until the very crimson dawn.