We poets stink of sweat and nasty breath--
Not from sun-drenched labor or foul foods
(A poet has no place for such things,
He is a victim of his sombre moods)--
But because he never thinks to shower
And is always drinking wine.
Forgive him, please. His words are so elegant and refined.
If only people would give him more respect,
He might have reason to shower and brush his teeth
And maybe even, hell, give up drink.
"Hahaha! No way!" he says to that.
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