the easy target
O Wordsworth! shall I call thee Bard,
Or but a wandering Mind
Who churns our doggerel by the yard
And talks through his behind?
A cuckoo is an actual bird
And not an abstract force
Or 'twofold shout' occultly heard
From some veiled, mystic source.
We cuckoos have two wings, two legs,
A beak, a tail, the works.
We fly around. We lay our eggs
(Though parenting's for jerks).
Your urge to disembody me
Needs imminent restraint.
A space invader I may be;
Ethereal I ain't.
|