In a lyric poem, the shorter the lines, the more imperative that one achieves perfect rhyme, but in the expression of any idea, there are only so many words that will permit it; in a work of that kind, imperfect rhyme is jarring—it stands out like a sore thumb, as the idiom colourfully puts it. Presently, with lexical economy, I am foregoing all manner of good imperfect rhyme in an attempt to compose in perfect rhyme the laconic—and, I hope, pithy—“Cranes and Sheep”.

As a poem evolves, a stanza is one moment a clear contender for the final draft and another redundant. When a good stanza cannot be salvaged, I confess I take a moment to mourn its loss!

I move heaven and earth to achieve internal rhyme in a poem. There are few things quite so satisfying to the traditional poet—it is like solving a puzzle of one’s devising.