RHYME SCHEME

The power of a gun can kill, and the power of fire can burn, the power of wind can chill, and the power of a mind can learn

This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes, Stretching his neck and both his eyes did close, And so did crow right loudly for the nonce, And Russel Fox he started up at once,

A touch of cold in the Autumn night – I walked abroad, And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge , Like a red-faced farmer

Honour to you who sit, Near to the well of wit, And drink your fill of it!

ERE on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray, With moving lips or bended knees, But silently by slow degrees,

I met a little cottage Girl, She was eight years old she said, Her hair was thick with many a curl, That clustered round her head.

“Go lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee,

Refusing to define, Even worse to explain, On the surface descriptive, At its essence mundane

male pampas grass blooms, spikey, creamy shoots against green, bumble bee's hums roar

To let hands shirk, Utterance behind , A pocket's blind , Deceptive smirk.

When I a verse shall make, Know I have pray'd thee, For old religion's sake, Saint Ben to aid me.

It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three, By thy long grey beard and glittering eye, Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?