To Keats

A cup of milk in airy foam and Cappuccino sweet
With cherry cinnamon and maple syrup and vanilla stick.
I would sit across from you at table and lap up the froth
Sweet nectar of the Aromatic Excelsa and say to you my piece.
I would say, "Good poet, to do is what you speak
"And to say it well I see. No airy metaphor graces lips
"Except to experience the thing as it is."
I would sit back, and eagerly wait upon you
Who talks of beer and Gypsy maids, to address my apology
Of what makes your verse so beautiful.
For my head is in the deep clouds, but yours on the pier
To sit nigh the moonshined beaches, and lap a pint of cheer.
No grand thing, no intelligent design does come from your pen.
But, rather, beautiful and layered verse of life;
A life I cannot live, but would be merry to.