Words

As I am blood, bone, marrow, passion, and feeling And having got exceedingly drunk today I write this poem with my head reeling My words shine not on this poet’s page Nor can I find any words in this present age To explicitly explain what I want to say Because I’ve drank more than my share this day This is the usual method but surely not mine Tis not the regularity of my wordy design My friends read my works and try to control my affairs While I care not about my own domestic cares The arts, at least all such as could be said Are gently written today by my tremulously Frail hands!