A few years ago i bought a book called Cursory Rhymes by an early twentieth century writer called Humbert Wolfe. It is lovely, simple, and briefly inspired me.

 Humbert Wolfe

It does not do,
 it is not well,
To now compare
 this Wolfe to El-

iot:  Good Tom
 who wrote The Waste
Land in such an
 amazing haste

He did not find
 good translations,
But left the quotes
 of other nations’

Pithy sayings
 in their own tongue,
And makes me feel
 like so much dung ~

My simple lack
 of savoir faire
And basic nous
 when i am there.

But Wolfe, he’s not
 like that at all:
His easy rhymes
 don’t cause a fall.

He wrote for child-
 ren, i would guess:
His gentle rhymes ~
 a Mum’s caress.

And just because
 they’re light and fun,
Doesn’t mean that
 on the tongue

They have no
 value, use, or
Worth; no less
 is he a bore.

This good Wolfe,
 unlike Big Bad,
Has nice rhymes,
 and makes me glad

I read him ~
  not like old Tom
Whose poetry
 is like a bomb

Shell hitting
 in my brain,
To end it all
 once again.