Come gather round and hear the tale of hallowed ink
And wild ghazals with wicked tastes for swallowed ink
The sagas speak of monsters who could never die
But heroes quenched their terror with a slash of ink
And you whose trunkless legs have boasted far and wide
Have died without a memory for lack of ink
I knew a poet once whose veins were indigo
And where his fingers roamed he left a trail of ink
Now here the phantom coughs of those who once imbibed
But have no stomach for the burn of honest ink
And wild ghazals with wicked tastes for swallowed ink
The sagas speak of monsters who could never die
But heroes quenched their terror with a slash of ink
And you whose trunkless legs have boasted far and wide
Have died without a memory for lack of ink
I knew a poet once whose veins were indigo
And where his fingers roamed he left a trail of ink
Now here the phantom coughs of those who once imbibed
But have no stomach for the burn of honest ink
It could be worse