facile insolence towards the famous

i was reading WH Auden
writing about the death of WB Yeats
not bad says i with a weary smile
for i was in the mood to disparage the dead greats

not bad says i with short laugh
and it seemed a strange and fitting epitaph
for two considered king of the road
when knickerbockers were considered a la mode

perhaps i should temper my vain exultancy
with some dull reference to their immortality
but i don't think that applies
the great poet strives and self promotes and dies
his flesh his verse his bones consign to ground
i'm not a great poet
but i'm still around