There once was a poet named Dylan
Who acquired some bad habits in Wales-land
He drank eighteen whiskies
Which left him un-frisky
His glass he nae more be a fillin'
**
Bill writes the best poems on this good earth
Of feelings immortal since his birth
You can buy intimations
Without limitations
If only you'll pay what his words' worth
**
A fine artist and poet was Blake
Yet at spelling he was such a flake
We might indulge "lyon"
Or "gyraf" or "piethon"
But "tyger"?—That's too much to take
**
'Round his neck hung a strange lavaliere
The curse of the old marineer
An albatross smelly
Brought quease to the belly
And thirst made the rhyming quite queer
**
Belinda was prey to a dope
In that poem we remember by Pope
The rape of her hair
Was so clearly unfair
But at least not so bad as a grope
**
"Speak to me" ordered Ed Poe
To the black bird perched over his door
But obstreperous raven
With motive so craven
Would only repeat "Nevermore"
**
Counting blackbirds amused poet Wally
And ice cream and emp'rors seemed jolly
Yet fictions this small
Aren't supreme, not at all
To think so is nothing but folly
**
He schemed to seduce mistress coy
But she wouldn't succumb to his ploy
She kept teasing Andy
Which left him quite randy
He'll prob'ly look elsewhere for joy
**
Some say he loved man but not wo-man
To love all around he's no vill-ain
At the end of the day
Who cares gay—aye or nay
For such morés we give not a whit, man
**
Prufrock was a stallin' said T. S.
Indecision is J. Alfred's dur-ess
Women come and they go
But surely they know
Coffee spoons counting days is such B. S.
**
For a book and a warm fire I yearn
But the forge of creation I'd spurn
For I know I'd be frowning
To watch Robert Browning
Or stand by while poor Bobbie Burns
**
Gertie sees pigeons on th' grass, alas
But I can't see them alas, alas
I'd swear there's no there, there
Unless I should dare, dare
Try Alice's brownies with hash, with hash
by Richard Drace
in volume 4 issue 1
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