There once was a poet from Eire
Who wrote phrases like “widening gyre”
Till he got very old
And his verse could unfold
And his heart lying down flew much higher.
There once was a poet named Chaucer
Who would only drink tea from a saucer.
When asked why, he said,
With an accent well-bred,
to a Chaucer, the saucer is law, sir.
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