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To A Very Young Poet

The muse is upon you go follow your muse
And the gifts you've been granted you should not abuse
The wild birds are singing in the wooded glen
Young poet where is your notebook and where is your pen.

But the birds in the glen you will surely not hear
Whilst you sit with your mates in the pub drinking beer
You are in the pub until ten every night
And whilst out with your mates you don't have time to write

Of Nature and people and your love affair
With the beautiful one with blue eyes and brown hair
But you are only in your early twenties and youth must have it's fling
And your Football Club's anthem you'd prefer to sing.

Than write more new poems writing is a hard task
And to give time to muse too much of you to ask
If some had your talents they would not waste them like you
To the Goddess of Poesy they would remain true.

The butcherbird pipes on the acacia tree
And the pee wee he calls in the park by the sea
But them you can't see or them you can't hear
Whilst you sit in the pub with your mates drinking beer.

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