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79 Leander Without Heroes It’s hard growing older as a writer. Poets remain “young” until they’re forty! But “young novelists” are off the menu By “three O”.You begin to scan other Authors’ bios for their dates of birth, stay Calm and rank yourself up, and know they too Will learn: as birthdays pass, so do the death Dates of great and good gone down in their day. At twenty-five, there goes Mr. John Keats, So you raise a foaming glass to your health, And at thirty you rudely lose Shelley Sodden on sand, victim of his own feats, Then you’re Byron, on the Hellespont, torn, Not sure you can swim a lap with the storm. ...

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