[ CC ] The Second Coming of Yeats

                
He may haft died on a dark, cold day                  
during the meanest of seasons                  
but this was not his ending                  
for poets like Yeats defy time                  
through dedication to craft                  
and persistence of rhyme;                  
a mere coupling of reasons                  
why he's considered one of the greats                  
                 
And regarding the written word                  
the lowliest disciple among us                  
eagerly awaits his return and many  
more mooning, swooning spectacles            
the likes of which you've already read          
Ah, penny, brown penny, brown penny!          
               
We discover ourselves immortalized    
reflected in the spectacles he wore                  
as if aviator goggles on his head              
currently kept with his ashes in an urn              
on Ireland's mantle, never to be spread                  
upon the North Atlantic shore  
or swept under some grubby pub rug;        
          
we proudly keep him on display                  
despite his breath having been taken away                  
by Death, that dastardly, heartless thug                  
who left him dead on a dark, cold day!                  
                 
And though this may                  
sound like a bit of a roast            
---a toast! A toast is in order, I say!                  
From his lips to your ears                  
stanza'd water turned to wine                  
vintaged way beyond its years                  
dialectably divine                  
                 
So stop what you are doing                  
and drink your fill!        
Of every precious drop                  
do not spill!                  
Don't for a moment tempt the Fates              
for the world moving forward                  
is already a glass half empty                  
without that hopeless romantic                  
Irish bastard, Yeats!