Sometimes sublime's the word that I would use
To try to capture feelings of this sort
And yet, it matters not which word I choose
The whole of human language comes up short
Perhaps where prose performs a job that's poor
The art of rhyme and meter might suffice
And so, to all the muses, I implore
that I be granted words which will entice.
So that this beauty can be known to all
I give to old, to young, to short, to tall
In seasons winter, summer, spring, and fall
A brilliant beauty, barely besting Brawl
Despite the many months for which I've griped
For Super Smash Bros. I am super hyped.