Being a Failed Poet.

No, one more blog post to come tonight. I’m trying to build up my stock of silly ditties, so I thought I’d copy this email I just sent to somebody. Now can you see why I’m best ignored?

Oh Mistress Qin, Oh Mistress Qin

I’d like to rummage in your bin

Imagine what I’d find in there

A stale pork pie, a scrap of hair

I’d eat the one and save the rest

To lay upon my heaving breast

When all the world is turning cold

And I’m returning to the mold.

It probably won't be long at this rate. Insanity is almost as dangerous as smoking.