Verse: Bad and Worse

No One Likes My Poems.

No one likes my poems at all.
That didn’t worry McGonagall
Nor should it me, though I’ll aver
I know whose I more prefer
Although he always found a rhyme
I do not bother much of the time
But whether rhymed, or blank, my verse
Compared to his, is not the worse


Even so, I have to say
I love his ode to the bridge of Tay
I once aspired to write that way
It’s harder than it looks, and may
Tax even great poets all the day

And then when I fell deep in love with a miss
I finally managed to come up with this:

Ode to the Missus

Beautiful woman! Beside whom I lay
I love you in every possible way
To list all your virtues would take me all day
But I’ll make an attempt at it, anyway

Your hair is so fragrant, and curly dark brown
I like very much the way it hangs down
Your eyes, too, I love. And they too, are brown
I love when they laugh, and fear when they frown

And then there’s your smile, that gives me delight
With inviting soft lips, and teeth shining white
When you smile at me, well. I know all is right
My heart skips a beat and I hold your hand tight
I just want to frolic with you all the night

Your legs are not long, but they get you around
They start at your buttocks and reach to the ground
Your neck is as graceful as that of a swan
Though not quite as feathery and not quite as long
And perhaps this is where I should finish this song.
For I won’t share my thoughts here for others to see
On those particular charms that endear you to me.

That poem brought me joy, you know it. I knew at last I was a poet.
Crying in the Wilderness.

Author: Uisce úr

Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done, The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.

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