I trust you will allow this bard
His trial of producing
That singular form, so unknown,
As, ‘to Piso’, my own musing

In lipogram, it shall occur
Missing a common digit –
Found following ‘d’, and prior to ‘f’,
Its function is oft rigid

But my aim today, bypassing this,
Is a notion to portray:
An author’s labour in his choosing
Of words that truly say

For stanzas must contain a truth
Imagination must catch flight
Valid art grips man’s mind and soul
And, with flourish, robs his night

How may an artist signify
Or distinguish a shining sight
If not through cautious planning
Of colour, form and light?

So too an author must abound
Through his wary pick of lyric
Or his unassuming stab at rhythm
May, in truth, turn out satiric

Consign a word its fitting rank
Allow no flaw, no fault
Your aim or goal in writing:
Wits and spirit to assault