Little Hawk, have no fear.

I kept them all, each couplet lame,
I knew no meter, felt no shame,
I knew someday they'd bring me fame,
Those rhymes from my younger years.

But now I sense the gathering ghost,
And online spend my days in boast,
Where I post and post and post and post
The rhymes from my younger years.


How could it be anyone but the vacuous Walksabout Verse? (He would have to write a syrupy sonnet to pillory Bearded Bruce).