Because I now have nothing better to do with my time, I'm going to post poetry, once a day for the next week, where the poem reflects some aspect of my mood at the time.
For shame, Penny, for shame. It is not inscribed onto the surface of a Grecian urn, but it rather on the topic of a Grecian urn (in the same way that Sophie is writing a doctoral thesis on mathematics)
When we did the romantic poets at school, I always had a soft spot for Keats. Such a horny, tragic little fellow. I mean, it would have been awful to know that you would die soon.
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When we did the romantic poets at school, I always had a soft spot for Keats. Such a horny, tragic little fellow. I mean, it would have been awful to know that you would die soon.
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