Rhythm? Meter? Rhyme?
They're moving walls - a labyrinth
Solvable by few minds.
For year's I've dug for this precious jewel
Through rock! Brick! Stone!
A two foot hole, an inch in width,
And no poetry I've gained from so.
My progress in my search for it
Is as miserable as this poem,
And as pointless as some painted ship
On some painted ocean.
But search, I've done for 50 years,
So I'll search for 50 more;
And maybe, if you see me then,
I'll be halfway done with this chore.