Anticipating cryptic diction,
fractured lines,

hot meanings teased
beneath sheer verbal negligee,

and metaphors
too vague to trace,

the class is baffled by my choice
to read them Collins as we start.

I say a window could be clear
-- obscurity's not so profound --

although they wish I would astound.
Most take this course to be confused,

to suffer the collective scorn
of something no one understands,

perhaps abandon poetry
and not return again.

But I refuse to be the one
to drive them out of paradise.