Seven Deadly Poets You Should Know There once was a man, England's pryde. Whose tales are repeated worldwyde. His wit was ferocious, His spelling atrocious. Too rich he'd be now but he dyed. And then came an author elite, Who swept the dust off ladies' feet. Despite his work's title, This chap was most vital. No faerie was he 'neath the sheet. Soon onto the scene burst a bard, Whose pen was a wicked petard. With thoughts so prolific, And villains horrific. He's held in the highest regard. The fourth deadly poet wed thrice. He lost then regained Paradise. His first wife had failed him, Then blindness assailed him. This poor genius paid a huge price. From Cockermouth one wordsmith came, With such an appropriate name. He wrote Tintern Abbey Which made rivals crabby And earned him his fortune and fame. An opium lover was next. This habit made all his peers vexed. No domes of great pleasure Were his beyond measure. Just mountains of unfinished text. The seventh? A mystical gent Whose visions he claimed, 'God hath sent.' With sales ever-sprightly, His tiger burned brightly And offset much more than the rent.
Jill Williams
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