Classic Poem

Before I end this glorious batch
?Of deathless verses, friend Maecenas,
I've something still to add, to snatch
?One laurel more to share between us.
(I mention all of this to no man
Except perhaps a friend—or Roman.)
Now that my time has come to die
?(Within a score or two of years)
I wish to have it known that I
?Will gladly leave this vale of tears,
Because (and how my friends will chortle!)
I shall be more than just immortal.
Into the clear and boundless air
?I shall ascend with sounding pinions,
Shouting a buoyant “I-don't-care,”
?Laughing at kings and their dominions.
And folks will say (and well you know it)
Q. Flaccus? Ah, he was a poet!
My wings shall sprout. Why, even now
?I feel all creepy and absurdlike;
My skin is roughening somehow,
?My legs are positively birdlike.
And see—sure as I'm growing older—
Feathers and quills on either shoulder!
Thus shall I fly about as long
?As I've the slightest inclination,
A veritable Bird-of-Song
?Without a local habitation.
Like Icarus I'll travel surely
And (need I say it?) more securely.
From where the Dacian hides in shame
?To where the river Rhone runs muddy,
All men will celebrate my name,
?My works will constitute a Study.
I shall be loved by people pat in
The ways of elementary Latin.
Then let there be no dirge for me,
?No petty grief nor lamentation;
Why weep for one who's sure to be
?A joy and honor to creation!
Ah, you're a lucky man, by Venus,
To have a friend like me, Maecenas.