The lost art of rhyming poetry

I grew up in a day and time

When poetry would always rhyme

Thirty days has September

April, June, and November

There were ebbs and flows

With highs and lows

Verses were easy to recall

The rhyme was the root of it all

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree

Joyce Kilmer and Edgar Allen Poe

Where did their type of poetry go

"Quoth the raven, never more"

The tale of the lost Lenore

Poets still have much to say

But not much rhyme or reason today

Still, some of us will stay true to form

There's really no cause for alarm

We might be a step out of time

But our poems will continue to rhyme