To A Modern Muse

O Metaphasia, peerless maid, How can I fitly sing The priceless decorative aid To dialogue you bring, Enabling serious folk, whose brains Are commonplace and crude, To soar to unimagined planes Of sweet ineptitude.

Changed by your magic, common sense Nonsensical appears, And stars of sober influence Shoot madly from their spheres. You lure us from the beaten track, From minding P.’s and Q.’s, To paths where white is always black And pies resemble pews.

Strange beasts, more strange than the giraffe, You conjure up to view, The flue-box and the forking-calf, Unknown at any Zoo; And new vocations you unfold, Wonder on wonder heaping, Hell-banging for the overbold, And toffee-cavern keeping.

With you we hatch the pasty snipe, And all undaunted face Huge fish of unfamiliar type— Bush-pike and bubble-dace; Or, fired by hopes of lyric fame, We deviate from prose, And make it our especial aim Bun-sonnets to compose.

I wonder did the ancients prove Responsive to your spell, Or, riveted to Reason’s groove, Against your charms rebel. And yet some senator obese, In Rome long years ago, May have misnamed a masterpiece De Gallo bellico.

We know there were heroic men Ere AGAMEMNON’S days, Who passed forgotten from our ken, Lacking a poet’s praise; But, though great Metaphasiarchs Have doubtless flourished sooner, I’m sure their raciest remarks Have been eclipsed by S*****r.