William Butler Bloody Yeats
Is one of those poets who nobody heats.
Who doesn’t know his works and deats
Will answer to me and my closest meats.
I sits me down and contempleats
The woebegonne yearnings of Willie B. Yeats,
And how my heart exhilareats!
My soul is bestirred! My anguish abeats!
Though yes he had eccentric treats
(Like talking with spirits in mystical steats),
That wack-job W. Bee-loud Yeats
Is the hugest of poetry heavyweats.
Whose body of work intoxiceats —
Whose lyric sublimity quenches and seats —
Whose slightest line annihileats —
Like Widening, Blood-dimmed, What Beast Yeats?
(Don’t confuse him with Keats.
Who had cravings for sweats.)