Here's my attempt:
It was an Ancient Mariner
Who went to Innisfree.
His creditors and former wives
Were closing in, you see.
The untimely loss of the albatross
Still weighed hard on his heart.
Now bee-loud glades (whate’er those were)
Might hold out some fresh start.
If bean-rows weren’t the softest bed
They’d let him stay, at least.
He’d been, for his joy-killing tale,
Soon thrown out of the feast.
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