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!

I only hope some poet may Read this, and act accordingly, Not tear into bits, and say: “O poet, do not preach to me!”