Triolet by Wendy Cope
I used to think all poets were Byronic—
Mad, bad and dangerous to know.
And then I met a few. Yes it’s ironic—
I used to think all poets were Byronic.
They’re mostly wicked as a ginless tonic
And wild as pension plans. Not long ago
I used to think all poets were Byronic—
Mad, bad and dangerous to know.
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