Poetry Writer's Lament after William Butler Yeats A Man Young And Old VI His Memories
We should be hidden from their eyes,
guests who holier-than-thou show
spirit bodies broken prowess shorn
whereon bleak comments blow,
To think some praise Bukowski,
and why none living knows:
Most readers take so little stock
In what one writes today,
prefer pursuing mind-set lock
who'd future scope betray;
My nib's like ribs of twisted corn
blank verse boors bright writes flay.
First burst creative bubbled once,
once could much pleasure take,
now ignoramous, double dunce,
repeats blind mind's mistake
presuming sin all rhymes, time worn
all but prose closed, half-baked!
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