Epitaph for a Long-winded Poet

Here lies a poet of ill repute
who wrote a poem and no one knew it.
His ailment, and there was no cure,
was using words that were obscure.
And when one hundred would not do
he had no qualms in using two.

He lies among these serried rows
psycholinguistically pruinose.

© Jim Hayes

"Epitaph for a Long-winded Poet" previously appeared in Light Quarterly.