I swear by Shelley’s steely soul ,
as poets, we have ups and downs.
Some lows, some highs, some times of trouble
(some bastard’s bound to burst our bubble!)
I vow, sometimes, we’re high as steeple.
and poets can be placid people,
until some sad, sick sons on bitches
unpick from poet’s cloak the stitches!
I say, we’re only killing time,
composing raw and raucous rhyme,
yet, sorrow in our souls is sowing
a mustard seed of faith that’s growing!
I swear by Shelley’s steely soul
As poets, we’re transparent people,
with no one’s mind we plan on messing;
believe us, we’re hell-bent on blessing!