We’re different – because we do, but in general …
¶ 1
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There’s no baying for Browning
No babble for Brooke
There’s no fetish for Frost
Yet cherish Charlie Cooke!
¶ 2
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There’s no zeal for Zepheniah
No rush for Rossetti
No craving for cummings
But big up Bonetti!
¶ 3
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There’s no wishing for Wordsworth
No onus on Owen
There’s no chanting for Chaucer
But brilliant was Bowen!
¶ 4
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There’s no “bingo! it’s Burns”!
No hotbed for Heaney
There’s no kudos for Kipling
But Leeds rooting for Reaney!
¶ 5
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There’s no touting for Thomas
No penchant for Poe
No swooning for Shakespeare
But jumping for Jo!
¶ 6
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There’s no ardour for Auden
No longing for Larkin
There’s no plinth to Plath
Yet partial to Parkin!
¶ 7
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There’s no clamour for Coleridge
No itching for Ibsen
No yearning for Yeats
But glory be Gibson!
¶ 8
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There’s no needing Neruda
Not tempted by Tennyson
No vogue for Verlaine
But vaunted is Venison!
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