Here lies one whose name was writ in water

It has been brought to my attention that John Keats might object to my indictment of his masculinity in the previous post.

I would just like to make clear that my comment was made in the purest sense of crotchetiness and cynicism based on my own condition of having been recently diagnosed as chronologically challenged.

Of course, such was not a condition the great poet himself ever reached. Keats died young of the great twin wasters of poets and thinkers throughout history: Poverty and tuberculosis. I have already surpassed him in age but not in achievement.

Furthermore I, of all people, being one of very few individuals who has had his name writ on the rosters of both boy scouts and girl scouts, as well as the roster of un-reformed English majors, is in no position to comment on Keats except in jest. Something the man might appreciate. In the final tally, my own masculinity is in no danger from my circumstances, nor is Keats from my comments.

Of course, you don't need my opinion of Keat's poetry, for I have nothing of merit to note. Except for this: Let me state for the record that not enough people read Keats anymore and the world is made plainer and sorrier for it.

In the meanwhile, dear reader, if you recognized the obvious spoof on Keats "Ode on a Grecian Urn," thank an English teacher.