The birds fail to drown out the thought
he perhaps ought
Not to entertain.
But can a man
Who’s blood is hot
Constrain his brain
To dwell always on Keats
And think not on sheets?
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K Morris - Poet 
Reblogged this on O LADO ESCURO DA LUA.
Many thanks for sharing my poem. Kind regards, Kevin
Love the final couplet. Nice!
Thank you!