In a quiet corner of the lawn
His forehead dripping sweat
Who’s that man sitting alone?
Must be the lonely poet!
From a distance what I could surmise
Was this man was drowned in thought,
Not minding the fleas and flies
That around him did freely cavort!
Was it disappointment I saw on his face?
Not having any luck with the words today,
So hiding in this corner for a quiet recess
To reflect and have them in his head replay!
He was swaying a little from one side to the other
I presumed by the tides that swept his inside
But as I approached him close, Oh brother,
He was plain snoring and no poet on a hunting ride!