A Poet More Respected Was

In ancient days of Celtic lore
The poet sat but second to
One man — that was the King
Of colors who wore but one more
To lend him its prestige unto
And honor to him bring

In that fair day, in that fair age
One didn’t make a poet mad
Because that poet straight would write
Onto his very next blank page
A parody of you so bad
To all your enemies’ delight

That never more might you regain
The trust of those whose trust you need
To help to get you through the day
Your life thenceforward full of pain
Because you failed to timely heed
His warning that he’d make you pay


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.