Ode To A Louse Poem by Sidi Mahtrow

On Reedin Ur Pome in the Pap'rs Printn

Agin, I caut ye, ye crawlin' critter!
Back an fro ya go, I know not whither.
In black and white ya strut your pizen
Fed by pymehts from your cussins.

Ye ugly, aged thing tha be
Somethg that natur for sure set free.
How dare ya see fit to writ
In a fine public forum such as it.

St. Louie's long past squattle
From thence y' came and now y' prattle.
Wi kindred, bumblin fools
Ya pen the twist'd memory of Mo's mules.

Me thinks that havin ya out'er sight
Beneth the scope of man's senses, tis right.
For to awak'n memories of drugs and ill got pashion
Seems now's the thing to test our reason.

Yet here ya be on th' noble pate
O're the printer's ink you spread your hate.
My sooth; right bauld ye set your nose in
Twist'n facts of which y're not certin.

In other print, I'd not be su'prize
But on this great lady, tis not wise.
Haps the educat'd ones will ‘preciate
Yore tempts to spread not love but hate.
But on Miss's fine wood'n pap'r
How daur ye do't.

What cursed speed does such a crawlin' ferlie do,
O'vr the blessed span, twixt salty shores and icey mews
Inked and ‘livered most working days
T' spred the wonders of busn's that pays.

Tis not the louse that causes distress
It's the respect given to his false dress.
O wad to be seen as it should be,
A critter, crawl'n in the scum of darkness, sightless yet free.

To pizen thoughts of unknown souls
Who seek knowledge untainted by gaouls.
Inst'd r treated to a burst of gory
From Old Sixty and Five who tells no story.

With apologies to Robert Burns, but not Frederick Seidel.