Tay a Tragic Poet ©
Dalton in Furness, England
Wee snivellin morbid word compiler
wha's gift is but a pox upon the smiler.
Afore the next time ye pit pen tay paper
where tap tay bottom, depressingly they taper.
Fur aw the folk who huv tay read yer guff
Have some pity. Are thay no pissed aff enough?
Encode it, use a different word fur...green
Tay make sure naybday knows joost whit ye mean.
Yer morosis o the liver, and yer boatman o'er the river
where the souls o untold dead wait in the mists,
Is that a sleekit grin, lurkin joost above yer chin?
Aye you'll be happier when we've aw slit wur wrists.
Aw, carry oan and wallow, where yer doom-filled fans will follow,
Feel the passion, yer no in it fur the money.
And when ye've writ yer masterpiece, o death and gloom so dire
when ye read it oot, we'll laugh and say..That's funny.
That is so funny, you crease me.