ORLANDO OPPROBRIUM
(with apologies to William Blake)
Tiger, Tiger, not so bright,
prowling waywardly by night,
what rogue fire hydrant, or tree,
could frame such fearful infamy?
In what distant swooning skies
fluttered lashes of love's eyes?
On what wings did he aspire
to reach the acme of desire?
Now licking scars of wounded fame,
the tiger backs off being big game
and tries to win with recompense
from forest-foraged endorsements.
Keith Good 