For Keats my pen flows, This is for them who say Little imagery the poet shows His verses near the nature sway.
If only Endymion they read There are doubts they did that ever Cause hath not they then realized That a thing of beauty is a joy forever.
His myriad verses flow and say of Greek gods and goddesses great And the earthly trifles that came his way With profound wisdom in imagination's spate.
Melancholy, solitude and beauty taut, On diverse fancies his poetry dwelled Odes he wrote on many a thought For many a cause, his emotions swelled.
He had his doubts though, Fears that he may cease to be Before he could pen his thought flow Wish his glory he could foresee!
