I’ve discovered that a poem that uses the rhyme words from another poem is called a terminal. Today’s poem is a terminal taking its rhyme words, for no good reason, from Christopher Brennan’s ‘Fire in the Heavens‘, adjusting them to suit the requirements of an Onegin stanza.
November verse 12: Dinner with friends The late-spring night outside was chilling, rain besieged your house's stone. Inside was warm, food rich and filling. We weren't there for food alone. We talked of Beatles, bugs in bedding, how to stop the virus spreading, Christmas past – such amplitude of subject, such a buoyant mood, I felt my spirits skipping, bounding – joy of grandchild's littleness, the climate doom we face, unless –. Through all, the bell of friendship sounding: eight of us, no massive throng, I give thanks in this little song.
Me fail? I fly! 