Stephen Sondheim sells rhythmical rhymes
and complicated poetry.
His lyrical lunges and atonal plunges
in multiple parts astound me.
With each well-thought-out line my mind is trying
to collect all the meanings they spout.
I went into the woods and got lost for good
and never shall find my way out.
If I were ever cast it wouldn't last
my mouth isn't nimble or shrewd.
My tongue would insist on turning a twist
to the roof of my mouth and stay glued.
My brains would be racked from trying to keep track
of each syllable I had to spit.
If a misplaced word ever occurred
I'd trip into the orchestra pit.
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