Matter comes in countless varieties, And the forms are evershifting, as well. Writers must dance the varied characters To dulcet lines where elegance dwells, Finding the right pace, cadence, and stresses To blend like harmony in the five hues. Though the tune fades in and out randomly And the path is rugged and hazard-strewn, Those who know the ways of change and order Will find all falls into place with a flow. But if one misses the proper pivots It's like grabbing the tail to steer the nose -- Like yellow painted onto wet, black walls, One's writing becomes muddy, and it stalls.