LYRIC FOR SALE

By Marlowe Wood

Natural Magic

Poor Keats, five feet tall with shoes on.
Oh, the pure freshness of Lady Brawn.
When sexing, he wears a beaver hat.
It's a bitter fit for a Cheshire cat.

A body too small for his mind.
North of London, you will find.
Keats and Shakespeare listen to sighs.
His notion of joy is summer skies.

La Bella Dame San I cannot trace.
While the poet muses, before azure space.
Smooth sailing ships show their keels.
This morn, Keats arm braced Pallas' shield.

Bashful eyes, he wore an airy mask.
'Tis modest boat, a poet for the task?
Gentle squeeze for each hand. 'TIs true.
Rein in his ample sway and bid adieu.