It's all about scarlatti's opinion of my poetry. I wrote it in response to a bit of Swinburne.
I thought it would benefit from seeing the light of day again.
She'd rather read my clumsy screed
Than Swinburne's measured feet.
Her Shakespeare thrown aside, to own
The works of me, complete.
The Robert Frost is winter lost,
My woods are where she sings,
And Shelley's Wreck can go to heck:
I am her king of kings.
-- Douglas Spencer, January 2004.