A Poem of the Arts

Thank you to Charlotte for giving us Jane, a novel full of Victorian pain,

And thank you Yeats for poems untamed, and thanks for all the political pain.

Not pain to inflict but pain just plain pain,

Pain that later you would try to explain.

The pain of Rochester and the feeling of love, and fire and death and everything dying, a crazy manic voice shouting from up above, and you thought your wife was crazy or lying.

Yeats old man you clever chap, when I read your poems I mime a silent clap. You struck the chords and played the reader, the reader of course was your inspiring feeder.

These two classic writers so clever and bold, why oh why do we all grow old.

I'd love to meet them and shake both their hands, but now they're buried in their royal land. Royal of English and poets and writers, not these modern fake ghost typers.

Well now I close with a questioning final, a question of who is your literature idol?