Catullus

So, you think my poems obscene? Read Catullus. Graffiti-ed lavatories are more apt sites for his scatological puerile poem writes. Yet, today his leather bound tomes enthrall us. Vicariously momentarily shot back over two thousand years I get to watch as he skewers harlots, fools and others such; poetically, of course; who strut what they ought not. Lesbia and her sparrow charm both him and me, but she runs off with another; his sharp barbs pursue. Now's my big chance; might my modern garbs catch his eye? I'll boast he my poems scanned. They don't; more's the pity. But he's so witty, I fear he'll read my lines as merely pithy.