two fortnights passed to wax from wane
and now the moon is full again
and lovers with romantic airs
look heavenward and think it theirs
they contemplate the other's love
beneath the glow from moon above
let them stand ‘neath luna’s glow
it hurts them not that they not know
'pon but one love her light is shone
the moon, when full, is ours alone
I was going to say something about its color, but the only thing I know of that rhymes with orange is door hinge, and I just couldn't make that fit. I wonder what the moon looks like from Nantucket, 'cause I KNOW I can work that in ...
3 comments:
Not bad, not bad.
(With apologies to the DA)
stupid tuesdays pass to drink an drain
and now the fuckin pub is full again
and bloaters with collegiate airs
look widescreenward and drink in cheers
they contemplate the fry sauce mavens
beneath the din of Sammy's ravings
let them sit 'neath the a.c.'s blow
it hurts them not, go Kirk. please go.
'pon but more pints our money will flow
the blue moon is full but the bud light may blow.
Fucking awesome. I assume that you'll get a Poetry Slam night lined up with Michelle?
"they contemplate the fry sauce mavens
beneath the din of Sammy's ravings"
So speaketh the Yeats of Hyde Park.
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