A dreaded sunny day. So I meet you at the cemetry gates. Keats and Yeats are on your side. A dreaded sunny day. So I meet you at the cemetry gates. Keats and Yeats are on your side. While Wilde is on mine. So we go inside. And we gravely read the stones. All those people all those lives. Where are they now?. With loves and hates. And passions just like mine. They were born. And then they lived. And then they died. It seems so unfair. I want to cry. You say. "'Ere thrice the sun done. salutation to the dawn". And you claim these words as your own. But I've read well and I've heard them said. A hundred times (maybe less maybe more). If you must write prose/poems. The words you use should be your own. Don't plagiarise or take "on loan". 'Cause there's always someone somewhere. With a big nose who knows. And who trips you up and laughs. When you fall. Who'll trip you up and laugh. When you fall. You say : "'Ere long done do does did". Words which could only be your own. And then produce the text. From whence was ripped. (Some dizzy whore 1804). A dreaded sunny day. So let's go where we're happy. And I meet you at the cemetry gates. Oh Keats and Yeats are on your side. A dreaded sunny day. So let's go where we're wanted. And I meet you at the cemetry gates. Keats and Yeats are on your side. But you lose. 'Cause Wilde is on mine. (Sure!)