Notes Regarding John Donne

John Donne, that favored poet,
Thought Death a fraud,
Uncommonly proud,
But he was given to metaphor
Wildly extravagant, indiscreet.
Why must I be dug up now
And later in self-reproach
To hear rock and roll,
The tortured young writhing
Like dying dogs, scratching
On the window glass.
"In this room, was John Donne, undone."

[Undated poem by Virginia McKinnon Mann. These lines were scrawled on a scrap of paper, not neatly typed like most of the others. I edited the capitalization and punctuation in accordance with Virginia's established style. Portrait of John Donne (below) via Wikimedia.]