The Poor Bloody Poet

It’s a bloody hard life for a poet
the knockabouts think you’re a poof
and you can’t sell your work for a dollar
You’re a dog that can’t even go woof!

Some people they say that the rhyme’s nice
and others the meter they choose
but none of ’em part with their money
It’s a bet that you’re going to lose

But you write and you scratch with your pencil
trying to catch Lawson’s prose
You think you’re a lot like The Banjo
but really you’re quite on the nose

You craft up your very best verses
and print them all out neat and nice
By the looks that you get from the printer
you’d think you were carrying lice

So you give up on trying for money
your verses now make you just fret
So you write up a bloody good web site
and give ’em away on the net.

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Comments

  • Joanna  On December 12, 2011 at 8:32 am

    Very true. I like this poem, so that means you really are a poet 🙂

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