O yea, judge a lady not on the company she keepeth,
It may be a reflection of her lack of choice
Due to the ugliness of her face, tragic be that,
Verily, measure her not by the tears she weepeth,
For she may be weeping tears of humiliation, forsooth,
Pronounce thee not upon the words she speaketh,
Her accent may not be of the finest calibre
Thanks to her lower class upbringing and bad teaching
In this accursed socialist society we are curséd withal.
Who be one such as I to contemn her in hypocritic words?
In dark’s solace I'll just take her hand and let her share my camp-bed
And in innocent insomniac lust we'll **** like puppy-dogs.
Nov 11, 2014
Nov 11, 2014 at 10:44 AM UTC
O yea, judge a lady not on the company she keepeth,
It may be a reflection of her lack of choice
Due to the ugliness of her face, tragic be that,
Verily, measure her not by the tears she weepeth,
For she may be weeping tears of humiliation, forsooth,
Pronounce thee not upon the words she speaketh,
Her accent may not be of the finest calibre
Thanks to her lower class upbringing and bad teaching
In this accursed socialist society we are curséd withal.
Who be one such as I to contemn her in hypocritic words?
In dark’s solace I'll just take her hand and let her share my camp-bed
And in innocent insomniac lust we'll **** like puppy-dogs.
But my best poem remains (cut & paste): http://hellopoetry.com/poem/923855/memories-of-a-little-soho-bistro/
