This poem strikes me as rather pretentious, pedantic, and predictable … and no I wasn’t searching for ‘p’ words there! But what the heck, I wrote it late one night, it meant something to me then, and I include for the sake of authenticity.
Juvenilia villa!
To, fro.
To, fro.
To fro to fro.
Too fro.
The tiger goes up and down
and
left and right
and stops.
But what is made of glass the tiger or the cage?