One Poet's Hope Poem by Bob and Alex Eichen

Oh, you'll see! I'll succeed!
Sobbed the Poet through his mead.
My life now is just too damned hard.

Always rhyming and thinking,
And whoring and drinking,
People laugh when they call me 'The Bard'.

I know I can Rhyme,
At least most of the time,
Why, I'm the greatest poet alive!

But folks think I'm bad,
So miserably sad,
My verses, at best, quite contrived.

As a man I am hated,
That's never debated,
But my poems should be judged on their face.

My words should be rated,
Not simply, berated,
Because the poor author is base.

Still, I live life a writing,
And whiskey imbibing,
My days will soon come to an end.

Oh, I'll die in my bed,
With a pain in my head,
With never a wife or a friend.

But the years will go by,
Long after I die,
And the future might think that I'm grand.

For my poems, with cheer,
Alone they will hear,
And they'll love both, the words and the man.