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!”