Daedalus

Daedalus                                                  June 26, 2006

Why can't we all be so pure

As dear old Daedalus, our comrade and pal?

The champion of old Ireland

Puts the negative spin to waste,

And thus we are saved

And sent on our ways to sainthood.

People are bigots, misanthropes,

False prophets of every kind.

God will keep His notes for Him to know

Of the impurities of society.

There, there is Daedalus,

Poet to the heavenly stars.

He observes, but never complains;

He sees, but never disagrees

With the natural process of things.

Daedalus never even makes a fuss.

As I stated earlier, he is the very essence

Of what is good and what God meant to be pure.

Never bother and never fear

For Daedalus merely takes pity on such fools,

And looks upon blasphemous Buck and those of his kind

As bastard beings crying for help.

The Bible tells us of Christ's Second Coming

At the fabled end of times.

Perhaps its Daedalus, the fair poet,

Who will pen the final stanza.