Classic Poem

I read “The Waste Land” riding
Down in the subway last evening.
Darned good, swell stuff, I said at times,
But I like rhymes.
I'm a conservative goof,
Aloof
From the poems amorphous.
I went to the orfice.
Terrible, rotten stuff, I thought Eliot's poem.
“O the moon shone bright on Mrs. Porter
And on her daughter.”
That's his impression.
O the moon shines bright
On the daughter of Officer Porter
Is charming Kitty.
Gentle sir, my heart is frolicsome and free—
Hey, but he's doleful, willow, willow waly!
Why do I always sing that going up the escalator?
City Hall Park
After dark,
He loves me; he is here!
Fal la la la!
Fal la la la!
Thought for ballade's refrain:
“Why should it get the Dial prize?”
Then said Sir Kay the Seneschal
Nothing at all.
Tit willow, tit willow, tit willow
Blah blah blah.