Felix Dennis

Lad, poets write of love and loss
   In sober verse as makes no sense;
It’s sugar-coated candyfloss!
   Truth is, they’ve no experience!

That ‘starving artist’ line’s a fake;
   They’re, most of ’em, just bags of wind.
Their blank verse gives me belly-ache,
   And half of them have never sinned!

Son, I’ve earned more inside a year
   Than fifty poets.  God be blessed,
I hosed the lot on girls and beer
   And squandered nearly all the rest.

And now it’s gone, who’s left to care?
   Drink up! Before the Reaper calls.
Ignore the green-eyed monster’s stare —
   There’s damn few inns in Hades’ halls!