Pushkin's Poems

Pushkin's poems, when I'm broody,
pick me up, and when I'm moody
they snap the melancholic fetter
that binds me, and I feel much better.

Pushkin, was the people's poet,
heroic verse he would bestow it,
in raw, romantic, risque rhyming,
damn-busting poems he'd been priming.

Pushkin; have you had the pleasure?
No? You've missed a precious treasure.
Peruse a poem if you're doubting,
see for yourself 'bout what I'm shouting!

(Pushkin had, for feet, a fetish.
So, Russian girls - he'd called coquettish
- their feet, he'd celebrate in sonnets,
ignoring heads bedecked by bonnets!)

Pushkin though was only messin.'
He thought good cheer he'd give, confessin.’
His witty wonder words were magic,
till duelist's bullet turned 'em tragic.