He stands before us to deliver a poem,a prose,a verse a rhyme or message. His manner quite manifesting,and his confidence puts the crowd at ease. Soon and so soon, to soon- we loath him. There is to much cluster on his grandiloquent vine, of strung together words without substance.Tho the use of an,apophasis gives poetic license to insult, we loathe him instantly.The silver-tongued orator's brilliance, soon becomes wearisome,while the mute articulate points of his eccentric ramblings leads us to dead ends, unfulfilled and burdened. We now loath him. The loathsome Bard goes on to rant about,degrading and dissolute issues of life which we know the Bard has not concern. His bombast deliver to some appears eloquent,grand-stand language of quite grand- eloquent vagaries, leading us nowhere. As we listen to the FANFARONADE of his charades,we loathe him. Tho quite colorful and pompous, he leave us in shambles, brains all scrambled ...and we loathe him. The once brilliant verse tho well rehearsed is wearisome. The Bard went not in hard we think "next poet please." We all were relieved as he finally did leave, because he looked better going than coming; With our intellect he was toying, tho the Bard was not hard ....most certainly,he was annoying.
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