Doggerel may be verse or worse,
But at least it's free
From those arty critics
Steeped in snobbery.
So peasants all let us rejoice !
And write as we see fit.
Who cares if the result is not -
A Gem of English Lit.
The Ancient Cynics had it right
Lives like dogs they led,
Howled about pretentiousness,
Honest Truth was all they sed.
This poem it is doggerel
That much I do concede,
If you don't like it, that's too bad,
It's done for fun, not greed.
This canine cantata has no aim
Only a minor point of view,
Appealing to the masses,
Not just the Chosen Few.
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"Master of Iambic Pentameter,
Was English poet, Pope, Alexander."
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A centipede was happy quite, until a toad in fun,
Said, "Pray, which leg comes after which?"
Which raised her doubts to such a pitch,
She fell exhausted in a ditch,
Not knowing how to run.
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