Regardless of what the experts say The intelligentsia who 'know' That poetry is but child's play For those like me unable to grow
In wisdom as they write away, Scribbling nonsense as they go Unrefined forgetting the way. Meaningless they write for show
In ignorance of rhythm & rhyme They do not see the poetry They pen is old and out of time Much like ancient history.
Poems Undated (1727)
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