We hates the poem. We hates it, my precious. We hates its limping footsteps. We hates its clumsy feet.
Why yes, I am trying again to write the Paradelle requested for Iron Author, why do you ask?
I haven't written a poem this utterly bad and without a single redeeming turn of phrase in easily 13 years. And it's hard. The effort of producing bad poetry should not make my brain hurt. And it's still not done.
I do feel a bit better that the Wikipedia explains the form was invented as a parody. But still. *growls* I. Will. Get it Done.