Piffle, drivel, bollocks and shite
Four eloquences with which to write.
When I touch my artist’s pen to scroll
I nearly almost use them all.
Each stanza, line, and paragraph
Displays my elegance (in draft).
My mind, just like a rapier poised,
More oft to drift, as radio noise.
But with my lowly sang-froid self
My folio sits unread a’shelf.
I ponder on where reader went
But find my august wonder spent.