Poets-Kotlets

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Once the poets chatted in kitchens
Loved cooks and sang in a row
Cooks gave frying poets
They were simply given ... compote and bohead

But they were killed by kings and gabukh
No, maybe they thumped, but their people sang
Sunk songs about life-life
About pressure and so on the life of the gentlemen

Then perestroika cheered up poets
They gave both the voice and the Damocles ax
And steadily chopped poets-poets
And the truth and the uterus was dancing a round dance

A little later they gave them Internet
So that everyone is glorified by the poet
And everyone was given his epaulettes
so that the personal Dantesov troll their idol

Now all the poets and there are no Dantesov
And really, the poet, why kill?
But less and less, here is brother, Petita
And there is no that cook to eat ....