The Greats Poem by Igor Wolfson

I know just where to find my mind
And if it's not in me somewhere, so does it mean it's lost?
Or is it just because even in warmer nights
I turn to talk to Robert Frost

And William Butler Yeats will visit me again
In midst of cold long days, in spite of pouring rain
As wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye, I drink and then I fly

And then I see Phil Larkin with his will
This be the verse, I say it still
And in the sunshine he will see
Old Cornfords watch, throbs quietly

To make the end a bit more bittersweet
I ask Bukowski for some beer
And then all nightmares don't get near
And then all falls asleep