there was an old lady from ealing

Ahh, poetry, the muse...and all that. Those of you who know me well will not be surprised to learn that I esteem verse above all other artistic modes. That is not to say, however, that I'll not set forth with bellicose rhetoric, and thunder against any poet I think is being unnecessarily "puffed-up".

In fact the wanton elevation of the rhyme game is my bête noir. It's only done to stop Joe Public from having a bash at setting down a stanza or two. Take it from me, there's really nothing to it. One need only hold on to a couple of technical pointers in order to churn out some reasonably palatable poetry. These are as follows:

Bearing the above in mind, consider the following, which I ran off in about two hundred seconds.

A Shoe