Said the poet to the president
'I think there's been an accident.
We've written a make of poem that doesn't rhyme.'
Said the president to the poet
'Ah, sure, nobody will know it.
Tis not feeling at all poetical that's the crime.'
Texted the poet to the president
'Don't you consider it irrelevant
To be trotting out our thoughts so, line by line?'
Wrote the president to the poet
on the cured skin of a goat
'Sure, isn't it just a way of proving we're no swine.'