Language!

I once knew a little
foul mouthed poem,
it didn’t get many long glances
although in its estimation
was just about right,
not too hot, not too cold;
-that’s right Goldilocks.

And one day it was gone,
into page two did it dip,
then tumbled to page three
where no one hears
a poem’s last cursing voice.

“%$*#*@!”

It descended to page four
and there it stewed awhile,
shuddered to discover
the main topic a deeply serious
one, “Ode to poetic death”;
It didn’t want to be there.

On page five the established prose
snubbed it.

“Bastard!”

You know the type.