Rob Stuart: Masterpiece

Although the lines you’re reading here
Are by a literary whiz,
You probably have no idea
How masterful this poem is.

From Syria to Swaziland,
From Carson City to Cadiz,
Few have the brains to understand
How brilliant this poem is.

Were that not so, I’d live a life
Of swanky yachts and quaffing fizz
And have a supermodel wife.
How glorious this poem is!

By rights I’d be ‘Sir Rob’ by now,
Invested by a star-struck Liz,
But hardly any sod gets how
Astonishing this poem is.

If ‘What’s the world’s best poem?’ was
A question in a bar-room quiz,
The answer should be ‘this’ because
Of how superb this poem is.

It makes the work of Ezra Pound
Seem on a par with stuff in Viz.
My verse is clearly more profound.
How wonderful this poem is!

I’ve read some Milton, and it beats,
Believe me, anything of his.
It shits on Tennyson and Keats.
How fabulous this poem is!

It shows the sonnets Shakespeare wrote
To be an overrated swiz.
I’d sooner see our schools promote
How excellent this poem is.

It’s sweeter than a linnet’s song,
Its rhymes are every inch the biz.
It’s worthy of a Swedish gong;
How unsurpassed this poem is!

I can’t believe that Peter Loo
And Mr Faber (Mrs? Ms?)
Rebuffed it. Don’t they have a clue
How marvellous this poem is?