Let not great beauty fall afoul
Of Hegel’s wise and dusky owl.
The Sky and Earth have this to say:
Please save our lovely daughter
From the Muse of Mars Hill cliché
That laps up Lethe’s water.
Her colors storm the Martyr’s height
Far from her Russian environs
Through The Doors of Blake’s sweet delight
Into The Poem that is Byron’s.
Her allure is so demure
And her smile is so specific
Like a Santa Ana breeze
It’s so touchingly pacific.
Her stepped up alliterations
Make her macaronics fairer
As in Ophiuchus-Serpens
And the tears of Tartars schwerer.
