<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357755" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Poets</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Each poet that I know (he said)<br>Has something funny in his head,<br>Some wandering growth or queer disease<br>That gives to him strange unease.<br>If such a thing he hasn't got,<br>What makes him write his silly rot?<br>All poets' brains, so I have found,<br>Go, like the music, round and round.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Why they are suffered e'er to tread<br>This sane man's earth seems strange (he said).<br>I've never met a poet yet,<br>A rhymster I have never met<br>Who could talk sense like any man -<br>Like I, or even you, say, can.<br>They make me sick! The time seems ripe<br>To clean them up and all their tripe.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet (he stopped and felt his head)<br>I met a poet once (he said)<br>Who, when I said he made me sick<br>Hit me a punch like a mule's kick.<br>That only goes to prove again<br>The theory that I maintain:<br>A man who can't gauge that crazy bunch;<br>No poet ought to pack a punch.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of all the poetry I've read<br>I've never yet seen one (he said)<br>That couldn't be, far as it goes,<br>Much better written out in prose.<br>It's what we eat, I often think;<br>Or, yet more likely, what they drink.<br>Aw, poets! All the tribe, by heck,<br>Give me a swift pain in the neck.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Clarence+Michael+James+Stanislaus+Dennis">Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=357755" data-title="Poets de Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis" data-description="Each poet that I know (he said) Has something funny in his head, Some wandering growth or queer disease That gives to him strange unease. If such a thing he hasn't got, What makes him write his silly rot? All poets' brains, so I have found, Go, li..."></div> </div> </div>

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