The silks of the dresses
wisdom of fleeces,
of soft but realist
and the tambourines
The cotton of the pretty,
as my eyes shall match
in a circle of a batch,
but lays least of the pure well,
and this song goes to hell,
as one purist as the least
is Beauty and the Beast,
so goes well the fairy-tales
drink to this and all the mary hales.
An answer is the motion,
to how love gets to be on play,
sees the whooshing of locomotion,
and her eyes are on display,
this boy will be a prodigy
and its thanks to her beauty.
I mastered the violin
age 24, just to impress.
Writing poetry,
is the least
of my instruments.