AccessMyLibrary provides FREE access to over 30 million articles from top publications available through your library.
Create a link to this page
Copy and paste this link tag into your Web page or blog:
THE WOLVES AND THE POETS The wolves asleep on the forest floor are dreaming of their mothers, Their flanks a-gleam in the silvered beams of an unremarkable moon. All the poets are good of course and some are better than others. Nothing is going to happen now though something will happen soon. The pirate mice in their pirate sloops are sailing down the gutter And the Gorgonzola (that holy roller) is sentenced to walk the plank. All the poets are fat of course and some are as fat as butter, If they're short of breath and they're pale as death they've only themselves to thank. Though the city-slickers are meek as vicars, the peasants are downright rowdies, Being strangely partial to music martial as tripe and onions makes. All the poets are rich of course and some are as rich as Saudis, They're billionaires and they've got no cares for their books sell like hot cakes. ...