"Oh doctor, do come quickly I request,
a virus has attacked Tir na nOg's lot;
a silkworm carried sonnetitis pest-
'most every member's meter met the rot.
We cannot think but iambic, it's a curse!
and even breath and heart march with those feet:
dee DUM dee DUM dee DUM - it's getting worse,
is there a medicine, a healing treat?"
"Dear Poets", says the doctor, "don't despair,
be patient, let it run its destined course;
these iambs that you suffer from, are fair,
and they will tickle your poetic source".
Then forth will flow a multitude of words
about a chervine, lacy veils and birds.
If you have any suggestions or questions regarding these poems please email me