There once was a poet from Nantucket....
Who was deathly ill and just ready to kick the bucket.
Once he was healthy...
Even he, be real wealthy.
Once thought to live long...
For a sought after song.
He'd search out all the cures....
Confident for sures.
Only he was told...
He'd not live to be old.
And now this poet from Nantucket...
Would be told, he'd for sure, soon be forced to kick the bucket.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Should have stayed in Martha's Vineyard