Shall I compare thee to a scutters’ day?
Thou art more smelly and more ravenous.
Bad luck doth slay the budding stats we play,
and scandal will lay low the hapless amorist.
Sometimes too quick the flick’ring candle burns
and often is the game cut short in waiting.
And, oh, how soon the skilled one loses turns
just to afford a rank of greater rating.
But thou art sweeter than my rat squad hires
(although thou too could slay me in my sleep).
Nor will menace lock you in its spires.
At least, without good company to keep.
So long as Liberation stays its hand,
So long we will rule o’er the Neathy land.
Zailing in the zee or Hunting in the marshes
My wounds and my ills, your love washes
My heart holds no terror, only a calming bliss
For you, beloved, is my ruby Polaris
While stalking the Flit during unholy hours
I fear no Constable nor prison bars
I need no tricks, or carry any lucky charm
For your love will keep me from harm
O daring lady of the deepest midnight
I long for you like the Bazaar longs for the Light
Every passing hour is becoming ever more sinister
Without holding your hands in front of a minister
I can’t spend any actions in anything sagacious
Until we could share our hearts in love so delicious
Wonderful pieces, fellows. I am more inclined to prose than poetry myself, but you made me wish I could compose pieces like these to my Heart´s Desire.