Don’t we all know it, there’s a poet on every bar stool
Making poems, only inside of their heads, the external way too manic, persistently swimming in despair
Smart lads/lasses no doubt, even if they kill most of their otherwise valuable time knee deep in the stout
Please give me a shout, a warning if you ever see me turn into one of them ‘cos I’d far rather be at home drowning in my pen
Then and only then do I ever get inside some book, have you all reading my undiluted stuff
No hassle at all, you’ll all be hooked
Hooked on poetry is far safer than the pint, which may give you a premature shock of delight, but trust me on this, that won’t last
Stick to the poetry, keep your beady eyes away from that all too enticing glass

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