It wasn't strictly regular, but given the need
To produce 70,000 foot/boards of poetry
In three weeks and a half, we improvised.
Old muses, dragged reluctant from retirement,
Provided weary inspiration for troops
Of poets who'd thought they were hired
To write comic greeting cards.
New muses, hastily made, proved to be
Quite sturdy for things slapped up from
Loose boards, ashes, bottle caps, bent ideas
And shadows which, drawing too close,
Found themselves conscripted. Supplies
Ran low; at one point there were only
Twelve rhymes on hand and three of them
Were hudibriastics. It was then I learned
To mostly live without them.
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