William Topaz McGonagall, worst poet ever.

William McGonagall.jpg picture source wikipedia 

Lately I’ve been doing some thinking. I tend to think a lot. It’s what I do. And since you stumbled upon this page, maybe you do to. It really doesn’t matter actually, how you ended up here.

But a question remains lingering in the back of my mind. How did this man ended up as the worst poet ever, and was he really?

And let the rich be kind to the poor,
And think of the hardships they do endure,
Who are neither clothed nor fed,
And Many without a blanket to their bed.

Surely you can detect some bruteness in what you just read, but is it really that bad?

Should we not look back on this writer as misunderstood? Or maybe his time ahead?

A visionary relating to past, present and future with heavy heart and some victorian melancholy, but above all a gentle soul in a world that couldn’t care less.

‘His clothes were thin and he was nearly frozen with cold,
And wholly starving with hunger, a pitiful sight to behold.’

The above¬† lines from this Christmas long gone seem familiar, don’t they? Remember them Christmas to come.

 

http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/life