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Poets

Poets are a sorry lot,
Fame and fortune they have not,
To the world they hawk their wares,
The people read, then say"Who cares".

So,the poets done and then,
People say "I knew him when,
That stuff he wrote was really great".
Cruel, cruel, the hand of Fate.

Poets are a sorry lot,
Fame and fortune they have not,
To the world they hawk their wares,
The people read, then say "Who cares".

- © James Browne -