In the land of adorable things
An adorable thing who's named Ming
Had the job to sing songs for the king
But there was always one line in each song that didn't rhyme or keep the tempo
Though the rest of the song was sublime
This flaw caused him a terrible time
For the king was enamored of rhyme
So he sentenced Ming to five years of hard labor in the royal prison
And Ming's days in the prison were hard
Breaking rocks with a pick in the yard
In the watchful eye of a cruel guard
But while he worked he practiced writing songs that the king would enjoy, though he didn't seem to get much better, so he decided to try something different
At the end of those five toilsome years
When Ming stood at the throne full of fears
The king waited with skeptical ears
And Ming sang, "Noses can't wear braziers."
The king furrowed his brow, most confused
"If you're joking I am not amused."
Ming replied, "But I can't be accused
Of not rhyming. Two pigs melt, become fused."
The king asked, "What's that bit about swine?
It's just gibberish, no place in that line."
Ming exclaimed, "That's just it, king of mine,
I'm an abstract song writer. Duck wine."
So now Ming makes up words in abstraction
And they rhyme for the king's satisfaction
And they've garnered fair critical reaction
Though in his spare time Ming still likes to work unfettered from such structures and strictures and explore formless forms more suited to his natural aesthetics.
The end.
Hello, friends. I trust you're well.
Later. Love.
