And my flapper sister—we wouldn't have missed her—
She's writing an epic on Sin and Sex—
The world's as perfect as it can be,
Everybody writes Poetry!
CHORUS OF CRITICS, (chanting yet more loudly:)
The world's not quite as perfect as it yet might be,
Excepting for our brother-critics' poetry!
(The Spirit of Discord now creeps softly out from among the Critics.)
SPIRIT OF DISCORD
Rash poets, think what you would do—