The dishonesty of literature

Poets are not famous for writing what's actually in their heads. The chief function of poetry being for bespectacled geeks to get off with girls, they write what they think people want to hear. Take Yeats, for instance, who famously wrote:

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

One knows in one's heart that the reality would be, rather:

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would sell them to a market trader of dubious repute
Spend all the money on beer and then
Lie down to recover under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my head.

The Battle of Richard III - a brief summary

Since no normal person would want to have to read all the media coverage of the current row between the cities of York and Leicester over the reburial of Richard III, I here provide an accurate, impartial and - most importantly - concise summary of the whole rigmarole so far:
-----------------------
Leicester: I say minister, we're getting rather bothered by this mad woman from the Richard III Society who's convinced Richard III is communicating with her not merely from beyond the grave, but from under a council car park. And she's offered to fund a dig, and the archaeology department look like they could do with a day or two in the fresh air.
HM Government: Righty-ho. If you do find any bodies, bury them again as close as is reasonably possible. In any case, wasn't Dicky dug up and chucked in a river?
Leicester: Quite possibly.
------------------------
Leicester: Well bugger me - look what the spade's hit! WE'VE FOUND HIM LADS! Except for the feet. And look at that - he was a hunchback!
R3S lady: Shite.
------------------------
York: 'Appen lads - Leicester ave found t'tourist attraction. Could be brass in that t'muck!
Leicester: Fuck off.
York: As t'name 'Richard of Gloucester' suggests, 'e were a Yorkshire lad!
Leicester: Fuck off.
York: And you lost him for 500 years
Leicester: Fuck off.
York: And some folks as says they is related to 'im want 'im in t'Minster.
Leicester: Fuck right off.
York: And us beloved Minster, jewel of t'North and spiritual 'ome of t'Northernness should rightly 'ave 'im.
York minster clergy: Actually we think he should stay in Leicester.
York: DIE, SOUTHERN PONCE!
York MPs: And we wants talks with t'Leicester MPs in t'commons.
House of Commons: Fuck. Off.
York: And talks with t'mayor of Leicester.
Mayor of Leicester: FUCK OFF!

[To be continued...]

I suggest we settle the issue in a way which Richard III himself would have understood and approved - York and Leicester councils should send out commissions of array, gather their forces, and do battle at a convenient mid-point (say, Mansfield - where any collateral damage would barely be noticed anyway). Not only that, but we'd probably end up with some spare feet to donate to his Majesty's remains. You know it makes sense.