Classic Poem

What value can reside in one-way things,
Again, of one who only One-ways sings,
I hear it asked. Let us get that over now —
Then we'll step Timewards, stiffly to kowtow.
Are we poor One-ways not of such a stuff
As words are wasted on? One word's enough,
Any crass epithet, to express our lot,
Of stucco Fronts, under sentence to be shot,
That strut and pant in insect packs — what's that
To agitate a serious pen? They have spat
Upon their work, the gods who thought us out.
Let us spare our pains. Fresh verse about to spout,
Poet, swallow your song — or wallow in sham!
(I get your meaning One-way). Better to slam
The door forever in the face of speech,
Confine expressive utterance to a screech?
For our trop-plein agree a standard scream?
Why hand down the sagas of a puppet's dream?
I'm with you — Wherefore squander pigment and ink
Upon the simulacrum of a stink?
The features of nonentity is not
Inspiring. A dud play with half a plot,
A one-way climax at the best — good sense
Revolts! Intellects scribble for our pence,
Dish up our half-baked spuds over again,
Half for huzzas, half for horrid gain.
You ask — Can masterpieces the deaf-mute beguile?
To polish a bold satiric verse worth while
Might well be found if there were something there
To make it lawful to string up Don't-Care !
But as it is, we need no shrewd harangue
To show us that Don't-Care should never hang!