Pixies & Other Webweavers

Since we've touched on Walt Whitman a little, I'd like to publish my ode to that worthy; some of you are familiar with it.

Poets Are Fairies

Poets can't be nailed down,

Since they are so very small.

Flighty notions make me frown...

Yet I'll not be scared at all.

Whitman light fantastic tripped,

Daily sang the bod electric.

Soul in chok'lit double-dipped:

Brand new social dialectic.

Nice to live in solace-tude,

Even for malishus spirit.

Finding that one's soul is stewed

Matters nix, since nothing's near it.

Closer. Look, you'll surely find

Luxfull spirit fairly fresh.

I've poked my finger through the rind,

Gotten to the airy flesh.

Yes, I think it would be best

If you'd join me in my light.

That's my only song's request:

Come! and love this lonely sprite.