The crystal house of snow
supports a modern poet
for having less to say

than Dickinson or Poe
and seeming not to know it
when cryptic word display

has nowhere else to go
its fame will not expose it
since critics work for pay,

loving the debt they owe,
so careful not to blow it
when rebel rhymes betray,

editors always know
exactly where to throw it,
returned or trashed away.

Yet angry talents grow
on censured rage to crow it,
unveiling raw dismay

at muse so bent and low
tyranny will never show it
till eco-disarray

persuades the biblio-pro
to send a helpful note
and make a poet's day,

so readers & writers en masse
see life with perceptive eyes
and publish to show the way.

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John Talbot Ross