I tried to write a terza rima rhyme, but halfway through, the scheme began to scream, “Why chain me to this interlocking time?”
My lines revolt; they wander off the theme, refusing neat ABA, BCB, declaring rhyme an outdated regime.
I chase them, shouting, “Stick to poetry!” They shrug and say, “We’re free‑verse now, my friend.” I sigh, this was supposed to be easy.
But still, I wrangle them back in the end, because a terza rima must behave … at least until the final rhyme we send.
So here it is obedient (ish), not brave, a poem about itself, confused but proud, escaping rules it instantly forgave.
And if you think its logic’s slightly loud, just know: the rhyme scheme did its very best, it’s hard to stay in line when you’re a cloud.
