The noble man with clean shoes
Crying his fervor which made his own
Into the wintriness is his imparting drone,
Where balled I am, still in bed in mufti
A door closing behind me.
Fine were his wonted, chosen ways
Pride projected chin slightly tilted
Come florid words dignified, though wilted
Come all, ye boys and men
Come girls come women!
They met him—the noble man, spruced
Tied firmly to the feat of his folly
Likes them intent, heedful to his glory,
Cracked a few times but cut once
Attempted the few, cut once.
Fervent words dodging the wintriness
But mind's in gossamer−grace wafting
In and then away again drifting
Balled still on a bed that keeps me kept
Rather fancy on a bed that keeps me kept.
* * *
Poem by yours truly.
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