Out of closet
The local rag let his
Secret out
Long hidden from
Public scrutiny
It was unnatural
Attraction to rhyme
He kept from view
Composing in obscurity
The metered lines
He wasn't exactly
Accomplished at it
More he
Persisted at it
Almost habit like
A fix addiction
He couldn't cease
Now everyone knows
Now they cast eyes
Down as he passes
Thinking he one of them
The son of Williston
What of these sirens
Howling
They never heard them
They never existed
Only in his sordid
Imagination
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