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Poems from Francis Kerr Young
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- a Francois Villon ballade

Who-who's complaining as I read
the works of poets laureate?
I do not need this verbal screed
from wee bookworms that aggravate
with cracks about the birds I date,
as if I were some twit to woo . . .
But neither am I celibate!
We're not amused Bartholomew!

Who-who sent this senile centipede
to ridicule our noble state?
Insulting owls - the wisest breed?
Bartholomew, you're tempting Fate!
So here's some words to masticate:
Don't bite off more than you can chew,
some words you can't regurgitate.
We're not amused Bartholomew!

Who-who would wonder why, indeed,
bookworms are deemed so literate
when all they really do is feed
on paragraphs they punctuate;
and never ever will equate
to owls. So from this bird's eye view,
at Poets' Crossroads, I'll be straight -
we're not amused Bartholomew!


Apologise invertebrate!
We'll have to keep our eyes on you;
but I'll get even, just you wait.
We're not amused Bartholomew!

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