“To be or not to be,”
as ole Bill wrote, you see.
Choosing to be a bard,
he knew could make life hard.
“Nevermore, nevermore,”
is what good ole Poe swore.
He knew too well the pains
that a writer’s life contains.
“There’s a big nose who knows,”
Oscar would no doubt pose.
For he was too witty
to allow for pity.
“Don’t be a stupid fuck,”
would come from the late Buk.
Drunk and homeless, he wrote
and never skipped a note.
Four writers, four voices;
four doubters, four choices.
