Recall the days of elegance and style:
Lyrics with rhythm; each word chosen with guile.
With subtle ambiguity, offence might be given:
But to using the f word no poet could be driven.

Allusions, imputations all could be made,
As writers created a fine masquerade.
Vulgarity nor profanity could ne’er be permitted
If to the top table they were to be admitted.

But fashion and faddism go with the seasons
Even if not usually for the best of reasons.
So if the prizes and glory are e’er to be mine,
I’ll have to submit and follow the line.

Right now I’m going to follow the rabble
And join the critics in their prattle and babble.
So goodbye to Burns, Wordsworth and that:
‘I simply think that you are far too fat.’