A-ware which my Profession affects, no doubt
Or Risk those Demoralised Bankers percieve
Perhaps a Warning which your Crown enspout
Dissolve my Tears since that Gun-Man's reprieve
Are all these your Receipts? Claims to your Stub
That which hampers my Earthed Reputation
My Mind - enwracked - make Alien to your Hub
All enjoy but your Ghost Computation
I can find no Faults; Save which I create
Then prove foulest Links as mortally mine
To leave you Pure; And pursue your Heart's Mate
Then kiss her Program for Sentiments fine.
Be as it may, such Sentiment can hurt
Yet still fine, for this Medicine convert.