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Rhymeless Reason

A poem whose lines end with twelve given words in any order:

angst, depth, plinth, bilge, film, breadth, pint, scarce, month, wolf, sylph, gulf


I found my Soho local and I dropped in for a pint

Of champers, not my usual muddy bilge,

And drank until these eyes had lost their dark, discerning depth,

Behind a bleary, alcoholic film.


No longer poor, outside my door there lurks no howling wolf,

Trafalgar Square has offered me a plinth

To celebrate my sculptor’s skill of boundless scope and breadth

And show my latest work – The slender sylph.


Such sweet success I’ve never known, so sweet that I can scarce

Believe my carved creation, born of angst,

Will, fairer than the Square itself, gaze out across that gulf

From high upon her plinth for many a month.

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