Nero, that awkward and clohopping creep,
who wished to be a stallion and a stud,
poured forth the torrents of his damned heartseep---
an undistinguished, repetitious flood
a grammarless gush, mainly misspelled mud.
During his lifetime, no one could dare tell
him that his verse was an atrocity
upon the hallowed joy of poetry;
his pages like diseased street whores, attired
in rags (unliked, unread, and uninspired)
this fact has long endured for time to keep---
perhaps he understands more, now, in Hell;
although, perhaps, not able to inquire
as he is seared and roasted in Lake Fire.
Starward
[*/+/^]