Swift was sweet on Stella;
Poe had his Lenore;
Burns' fancy turned to Nancy
And a dozen more.
Poe was quite a trifler;
Goldsmith was a case;
Byron'd flirt with any skirt
From Liverpool to Thrace.
Sheridan philandered;
Shelley, Keats, and Moore
All were there with some affair
Far from lit'rachoor.
Fickle is the heart of
Each immortal bard.
Mine alone is made of stone-
Gotta work too hard.
Us Potes
Franklin Pierce Adams
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Poem topics: alone, heart, work, sweet, hard, skirt, swift, stone, stella, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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