The Happy Poet

Who ever heard o’ a happy poet Does such a creature exist? If one be, I surely haven’t met One without scars on the wrist Scribbling and scratching only to forget! What kinda poet, can hold a job? With words flooding out of your face Do they think you laugh or you be a slob? Locked in your room with wine for days Running and hiding from the invisible mob Happy little poet, possessed little witch Those dogs nipping at your feet writing and writing relieves the itch Don’t bother standing, stay in your seat Happy poets living in black pitch!