Who ever heard o’ a happy poet
Does such a creature exist?
If one be, I surely haven’t met
One without scars on the wrist
Scribbling and scratching only to forget!
What kinda poet, can hold a job?
With words flooding out of your face
Do they think you laugh or you be a slob?
Locked in your room with wine for days
Running and hiding from the invisible mob
Happy little poet, possessed little witch
Those dogs nipping at your feet
Writing and writing relieves the itch
Don’t bother standing, stay in your seat
Happy poets living in black pitch!
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