Note from Joe: Many great poets have enjoyed parodying each others' style. Here's a fun example of that.
Up to the top of the haunted turf
They climbed on the moonlit hill.
Not a leaf rustled in the underbrush;
The listening air was still.
And only the noise of the water pail
As it struck on a jutting stone,
Clattered and jarred against the silence
As the two trod on alone.
Up to the moonlit crest they went;
And though, not a word would they say,
Their thoughts outnumbered a poet's love-songs
In the first green weeks of May.
The stealthy shadows crept closer,
They clutched at the hem of Jill's gown;
And there at the very top she stumbled,
And Jack came shuddering down.
Their cries rang out against the stillness,
Pitiful and high and thin.
And the echoes edged back still further
As the silence gathered them in.