Query any poem you want.

Way atop a Sycamore tree

a black bird's call reiterates

his three syllable poetry.

Caw! Caw! Caw! The feathered poet

crowed. Caw! Caw! Caw! Came the verse

high up on the sycamore tree.

Caw! Caw! Caw! He vociferates

once more. His alliteration

and end rhymes, stressed in words of three.

Not to be outdone I sounded

my loud, lame three-word rendition.

Then from his branch he looked at me

And burst out with a loud guffaw

Caw! Caw! Caw! He boomed Caw! Caw! Caw!