W.H. Auden

Letter to W.H. Auden

Well, my dear—ever since the British Isles
Went National Socialist—like Europe
I don’t feel so bad—about having piles
Nor do I feel like—such an awful perp
When I think of the Queen—I want to burp
So Englishmen must be—Neocon now
Leave it to the fascists—to know how

Christopher & his kind—like you & me
We’re so lucky—to have escaped in time
Just in time for—toast, marmalade & tea
Impressed by—Miss Churchill’s exquisite slime
Her shrill indignation—fleeing so fine
We saw her in Church—fairly recently
Confessing, dear—rather indecently

I tend to agree—with Madame Housman
To say in print—what’s so unprintable
The flawed Roman lyrics—that they should ban
The way Pope Pius—so inscrutable
Allowed young priests—to be so screwable
Christopher and I—noticed it right away
How the cute ones—were rather a good lay

Far be it for me, my dear—to confess
But I heard it—through the grapevine in Rome
Vivien is back—she wants more not less
Haunting the shadows—of St. Peter’s Dome
For a handsome young—virgin priestly bone
Telling Lotte Lenya—she’s just a mess
Please—Contessa Terribili-Gonzales!!!"

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