Eliot was the best. Now dead. <br />So Beck-hams seek to write instead. <br />And then there was Shelley <br />clubbed to death with a wellie, <br />Wordsworth sometimes was quite fun <br />that wordsmith now beneath the sun, <br />and then there was the great Sappho, <br />gangrene after removal of her toe, <br />Shakespear - little time for him, <br />sadly lacking depth and rythym, <br />My favourite perhaps is Homer <br />bled out, amputated mid boner, <br />Sometimes I think of young Ted Hughes <br />that I know better. As do you.<br /><br />Michael Emine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dead-poets-lack-of-society/
