Oh, brother poets, ye who write
Those comic rhymes I read in print,
And of whose output there's no stint,
Is your task, like your verses, light?
Or do you ever tear your hair,
As I do, when ideas won't come?
In moments of de-lir-i-um
I wonder do you ever swear!
I wonder do you waste the ink,
And even wear out pens before
Your tricking humor starts to pour,
And do you ever take to drink?
I wonder so his readers know --
Or, knowing, care a single d--n
How just to make an epigram
A bard must nearly "dotty" go?
Is it I've lost my sense of fun,
Mislaid my punch? Oh, lend your aid,
Ye brother bards, slick at your trade,
And tell me how the job is done!
First published in The Bulletin, 30 October 1919.
