BALLADE FOR MORALISTS
Sing me a lilting, laughing song,
Some spritely, springtime roundelay,
That’s not too burdensome or long ...
That hasn’t got too much to say.
O sing of goblin, elf or fay,
And deck your verse with imagery
Just this remember: Make it gay ...
O poet, do not preach to me!
Weave me weird tales of old Hong Kong,
Of China, or of far Cathay,
With pig-tailed heroes, called Hoo Chong
Who struggle in a tyrant’s sway.
Be sure the setting of your lay
(If it should end unpleasantly)
Be very, very far away ...
O poet, do not preach to me!
If to some antique, classic wrong
Poetic tribute you would pay ...
Resound some martyr’s funeral gong ...
Awake the tears of yesterday ...
I am not one to bid you nay,
But this I beg you earnestly
Don’t tack a moral to your lay ...
O poet, do not preach to me!
L’envoi
I only hope some poet may
Read this, and act accordingly,
Not tear into bits, and say:
“O poet, do not preach to me!”