The poem
While I am emulating Keats My brother fabrics toilet seats, The which, they say, are works of art, Aesthetic features of the mart; So exquisitely are they made With plastic of a pastel shade, Of topaz, ivory or rose, Inviting to serene repose.
Rajahs I'm told have seats of gold,-- (They must, I fear, be very cold). But Tom's have thermostatic heat, With sympathy your grace to greet. Like silver they are neon lit, Making a halo as you sit: Then lo! they play with dulset tone A melody by Mendelssohn.
Oh were I lyrical as Yeats I would not sing of toilet seats, But rather serenade a star,-- Yet I must take things as they are. For even kings must coyly own Them as essential as a throne: So as I tug the Muse's teats I envy Tom his toilet seats.