I have to say I got a start on this. My Oldie came three days ago. I can't decide whether the new editor is as good as the old one.
It was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree,
No Duke or Earl or Baron or
Of any high degree.
A sailor tailored like a ghost,
I made him tried and true.
He munched and crunched his buttered toast
As ghosts are wont to do.
The hives, he cried, of Irish bees,
The mice in English beardos,
They buzz and squeak throughout the week.
It's quite the place for weirdos.
Yes, Innisfree's for me, said he,
The wailing woebegone you meant,
A drunk old lush, daft as a brush,
And ancient as a monument..
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