Dueling with a windmill,
You died a homeless death
Before you were even born,
Love worn like an albatross,
Forms a bond like non-dairy creamer.
You were traded for vitriol,
Cast into the sacred river Alph.
Blake, Wordsworth, Keats, Coleridge, Byron & Shelley-
Is not a law firm or Wall Street trading company.
Just ask anyone! Well perhaps not a good idea.
Pallbearers all were they at your funeral.
Revel society in your hollow modernisms!
Soulless people, food and aps.
We sing "Auld Lang Syne" scarcely aware of Burns.
And tear-up not for the lost year but our lost selves.
Pity that your poetry doesn’t show up on Coke cans,
Or at the very least a Super Bowl ad.
When we stared into the abyss and you didn’t stare back,
Was when we knew that we were dead too.