John Keats
Didn’t write any Tweets
Nor ever undertook
To post on Facebook

Percy B. Shelley
Sailed the Don Juan to sea
Where a monstrous storm seen rarely
Robbed Frankenstein’s Mary

His friend, Lord Byron,
Watched the beach with his pyre on
And then, on a whim,
He went for a swim

William Shakespeare
Loved his wife so sincere
That he willed her when dead
His second best bed

Sir Wilfred Owen
Wrote a **** spiffing poem
And he might well have wrote more
Had he outlived the war

Robert Frost
Got hopelessly lost
When for giggles and a laugh
He took the wrong path

Emily Dickinson
Needed hope to cling on,
So for lack of lucky heather
She clutched an old feather

William Blake
Saw the tiger, too late,
And he felt a cold shiver
As it ate his liver