His poems were long and elegant
Each line laken a nn age to fashion,
Read in his own sonorous voice
Full of emotion verve and passion,
Each word having been chosen
With such a precision and care
Showing that lexicographers
Knowledge and skill and flair.
A stream of verbal molasses
Holding the listener entranced ,
Each with a certainty feeling of
Their existence being enhanced..
The words poured and tumbled
Yet in a certain restraint flow
The verbal equivalent of
A fine pyrotechnical show.
He didn't bother with a rhythm,,
Any metre cadence or rhyme,
The message was the mission
And he just didn't have the time.
The applause was loud and rapturous,
Exnthusiam quelling any doubt
That although they'd attentively listened
Nobody knew what the poem was about.
But he was the Poets'Poets
With plaudits attached to his name
And he languished and relished
In newly acquired wealth and fame.
No scribbler of Common doggerel,
No his style was sonorous and pure
And nobody seemed too mind
It was wordy, Dense and obscure.
A literary Emperor's New Clothes
That dazzled bewildered enthralled
Nobody having the courage to admit
They'd not understood it at all.
So he became the Poet Laureate,
The most wordy there'd ever been,
And some said with a rare compassion
God help and Save The Queen.