This is an ode to poets
who know just what to say
with elegance and beauty
within the games we play.
Who reads the regulations
and knows just what they mean
and understands the concept...
seventeen means seventeen.
For eighteen isn't proper
and sixteen's less aspired.
An ode to all who manage
the syllables required.
I praise the storytellers
competing on the site,
who know the simple secrets
of counting words they write.
For counting up to fifty
should cause no stress or grief.
The contest deadline passes,
I'm shocked in disbelief.
The contest hangs in limbo
for word counts not allowed.
The committee scans the entries
then sadly weeps aloud.
Policing out the ignorant
can't be a subtle task.
Spare them the humility,
is that too much to ask?
This is an ode to poets
who conquer and unite,
who spend the tiny effort
to know their count is right.
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