All The Awards Would Be Mine
A satirical version of Andrew Marvell’s classic poem To His Coy Mistress dedicated to the artists and writers who are returning their accolades.
Had I but world enough, and time,
All the Awards would be Mine.
Why,
Had I but penned a paean
On Confounded Eminent Dunce
That once visit’th a village mud house,
Once sitt’th on the fence,
Once to Spain runs
Would I have perchance earned
Two pence.
For a Dunce.
Had I but world enough, and time,
All the Awards would be Mine.
Lesser literary lackeys pen putrid paeans,
Meant to pamper but
Them barbarous, poetic half-baked beans
Conjure visions of a coffin
Terrifying the desolate Queen.
Had I but world enough, and time,
All the Awards would be Mine.
All the ice of Antarctica
All the refrigerators of Rome
Haveth not the might to
Freeze the stellar reaches of mine genius
Whose velocity escapes Jupiter and reaches Uranus.
Had I but world enough, and time,
All the Awards would be Mine.
Oh and all the Awards would be Mine!
‘tis a travesty I live in a time
Where to earn two pence
I must needs at least fix a fence.
Had I but world enough, and time—
Oh is long gone that time!
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