Classic Poem

I can't but wonder, Mr. Dean,
To see you live, so often slain.
My arrows fly and fly in vain,
But still I try and try again.
I'm now, sir, in a writing vein;
Don't think, like you, I squeeze and strain.
Perhaps you'll ask me what I mean;
I will not tell, because 'tis plain.
Your Muse, I'm told, is in the wane;
If so, from pen and ink refrain.
Indeed, believe me, I'm in pain
For her and you; your life's a scene
Of verse, and rhymes, and hurricane,
Enough to crack the strongest brain.
Now to conclude, I do remain,
Your honest friend,