The same old well worn phrases,
The same old clumsy rhymes,
The riff that falls then raises
A hundred thousand times.
The same old boring meters
And melodies repeat,
The four: four rhythm beaters.
The pattern is complete.
What price a plagiarism?
Can ignorance be theft?
And is eclecticism
Not woven in the weft?
Uncharted, down the ages
The echoes linger on;
The wisdom of the Sages;
The stanzas of the Song!
Back To Poetry Index