Meeting Of Poets

Good old Wordsworth wandered lonely as a cloud,
as he breezed thro' daffodils in a golden shroud,
Then Longfellow stifled a yawn, 'Why do I bother?'
'To give you pearls of wisdom and my Hiawatha.'

Then it was Persig in this instance, clutching Zen
so closely and the art of motorcycle maintenance;
Ogden had his usual mint julip, looking a bit trim,
he didn't need long to read : 'Fleas - Adamhadem.'

It was best if we were far from the madding crowd,
sometimes it was right if dodgy stuff wasn't allowed,
Shelley and Byron seemed to where anything goes,
after being seen in numerous Venetian bordellos.

Then there was me with my 'Passport to Heaven,'
although going thro' the eye of a needle was uneven.