BY CAROLYN WELLS
MY Pegasus strains at his curb,
Although I have him tightly geared.
Though I protest, with speech acerb;
I cannot hold him, I’m afeard.
Oh, never has he so careered!
He’s like a bee-stung Hippodrome;
But, though his laws I’ve e’er revered,
I will not write a Cubist Pome!
To keep my seat doth me perturb;