The Book of Ezra - Il Miglior Fabbro

Dear Mr. Pound, Your holiday in Italy Has besmirched your legacy. Your Cantos, they plead, But don’t exonerate, Not as far as I can see. Dear Mr. Pound, Did praise from Hemingway Whet your narcissistic thirst? As an ex-pat abroad, Did you assimilate What enlightened nations curse? Dear Mr. Pound, You made Il Duce smile. There’s evidence that proves it. Was your Republic of Utopia Bi-polar by design? Or was it simply hubris? Dear Mr. Pound, You strain my intellect With your imagery of life, And turn my conscience Hard on itself With a keen, dissecting knife. Dear Mr. Pound, Your lyrics sing to me, But your politics offend. You peddled fascist ideology. If you want my true opinion, I refuse to condescend.