I think I am unusually permissive about where I allow contractions. I'm always tickled by that E E Cummings poem that just barely pulls off a rhyme with "year"

I think I am unusually permissive about where I allow contractions. I'm always tickled by that E E Cummings poem that just barely pulls off a rhyme with "year" and "appear" in its last line, "...and April's where we're.".