Hinged

Let the lexicon of my existence  
Be a nonstop string of superlatives,  
To tilt against the rebuking chance gives,  
With their gillyflowers of recompense  
Packed in the finery of tailored words  
Since at least I have the gift of the gab;  
A late talent I could not quickly grab...

Like literacy for lazy goatherds.  
 
Thus upon a volta, I turned, and throve,  
And realized that all along I had  
Brain storms as noble as Sir Galahad  
In the armamentarium alcove  
Notoriously difficult to scan;  
 
That onetime melancholy mind...of man!