If I were crowned as poetry's king
for even just a year
my sceptred quill would be on show--
I'd rule as scribal peer.

I'd banish verse that didn't rhyme
and throw it in the sea,
my subjects would be placed in stocks
for breaking this decree.

Blank verse or free would be a crime.
Though gracious I would be--
if you repent and turn to rhyme,
eternally you're free.

All prompts would be at little cost,
(one cent or maybe three)--
the one who wins would be made Lord,
or Lady should she be.

Those member pumps would all be banned;
my people would be free
to write as many works of art,
as far as eye can see.