From Nash to Ash

Ogden Nash seems to dash poetry into hash.
      Corned beef to the eyes, but horse meat to the tongue,
And ever to smart the true Art into trash–
      Yet they say it’s as good as the best ever sung.

Master Humorist, as they call him, is a gash
      Amid the sacred tradition of poetical Art;
Upon the hearts of true poets, he leaves a thrash–
      Yet they say no one but him can be that smart.

He scribbles balderdash with his mind on cash
      That raises as feverish as tropical temperature;
Magazines keep plentiful space for more from Nash–
      And they say he’s among the best in our literature.

His weight is growing, like a tree named calabash,
      To the extent that this poem sounds like his own;
From the Greek day to now, he is but a flash–
      Yet they worship him– O down, down with this clown!

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