In the Poet's magic kingdom
Readers read their works
And a hush falls on the battle field
the stanzas are just like church,
In the Rhymer's fantasy lands
Every response is praise
They write about their navel lint
Watch muses as they graze.
The Poets room is a basement sublet
And his job is toilet cleaning
He thinks about white puffy clouds
And leaves the bathrooms gleaming.
The Rhymer's reality is
That he is quite unknown
And writes about great birds of prey
But he has never flown.
Readers read their works
And a hush falls on the battle field
the stanzas are just like church,
In the Rhymer's fantasy lands
Every response is praise
They write about their navel lint
Watch muses as they graze.
The Poets room is a basement sublet
And his job is toilet cleaning
He thinks about white puffy clouds
And leaves the bathrooms gleaming.
The Rhymer's reality is
That he is quite unknown
And writes about great birds of prey
But he has never flown.
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