waxen ivy, leaves verdurous
wind around the succulent shoot
cleaving as malignant virus
sinking deep parasitic root

as star heliacal, it makes its debut
with innocence and propriety,
growing flexuous in situ
of sun maiden of society

but as incessant circumpolar
star of eternal reign
it is stronger than star solar
sun orb of yon kingly train

round soft bark o' younger sapling
twists 'n weaves the strangling twine,
hand-to-hand contestants grappling
with hate and love, the two combine

sapping strength, convolvulus curls
its lips, agape in poison'd glee
as from its midst, river pearls,
satin bells in filigree

the sweetest blooms of ivory,
tender as a fairy's wings,
with splash of pink-toned livery
as courtiers of ancient kings

sweet reminder of beauteous nature,
hand that guides all things that are,
from thickest trunk to slend filature,
from snow crystal to morning star

i bend my ear to the cackle
of conceited, binding ****,
as whining howl of the jackal
standing over carrion feed

within i see the empty crackle,
hollowness and selfish need
to capture others in its shackle
to feel worthy in life's stampede

as those who love to feed off others
are starved of own self-worth,
and thus they need life another's
to live on G-d's good earth

kneeling on the carpet,
back to radiator,
heels against the parget,
wails 'gainst her hater,

for life, the gladiator,
mark'd her out as target,
the **** of aggravator,
the eye of senseless orbit

copious tears doleful shed
in lament of menopause
heavy heart and heavy head
vainly search for latent cause

as despondent dejection
spreads his grey-black wings
snuffs out flame o' resurrection
of hope of better things

everyone is the writer
of a masterpiece
written not with typewriter,
pen or quill of geese
rather this work is scribed
with kindness 'n good deeds
the goodness that's been imbibed
in fufilling others' needs,
its pages are the hours
that've been wisely spent
a garden of rare flowers
emitting perfumed scent
this is your magnum opus,
not some dusty tome,
recording your true focus
whilst this world was your home

there was an old lady from York
who used to screech and squawk
when asked why
this heinous cry
she answered, 'because i'm a stork'!

now, this strange ol' lady from York
who believed that she was a stork
decided one day
to start eating hay
on a plate with a knife and a fork

when friends offered her some fish
she firmly pushed away the dish
i'm vegetarian
not a barbarian
but i'll eat some eggs if you wish

now i'd like to continue this rhyme
about this bird maritime
or rather this lady
of intelligence shady
but i'm afraid it's reached my bedtime

so, kind reader, as you're still reading
and curious to know where this is leading
feel free to write
something to delight
to give this story the end that it's needing

the blackbird does as blackbird should
he sings the morn in view
and at dusk, as sun dons hood,
farewell's the day's deep blue

and though the sloth seems lazy,
a-snoozing in the tree,
a sleep that might seem crazy
to you and to me

a sloth does as sloth is,
he cannot other be,
much as the black moth is
nocturnal frequentee

during the day, he lies under
leaf or vegetation,
it's all a part of the wonder
of G-d's machination

it's just man that has a say
in how he spends his hour,
he may choose to be gay,
blithesome as a flower

or saturnine and severe,
without a hint of cheer,
though DNA may play a part
man is ruler of his heart