"dallying" poems
Like ******* a **** and you can't get hard,
Like rolling a blunt that's full of glass shards,
Like a bowling stunt where the pins are yards,
Away and you must stay put loaded with gin and not on guard,
While there's jaywalkers walking cross the alley and snipers far,
Up both sides, moss covered camouflage dilly dallying,
Falling comets, planets and stars while you ***** black tar out your scars, Sick spurting **** out the pit of your face and tripped on a lace falling down along with Mars.
Faster than my **** grows when I'm hitched, race-cars, bullets, and the suicide of a suicidal emo ***** with a mullet, grab the **** and pull it off and roll it up like the glass when you rolled it in the paper faster than a rapers hips going twitch twitch twitch, ***** you know it, she's on the list.
But you're soft and no fist can fit and what the **** is this about, just **** I coughed up and spout out my mouth, if it makes sense, even a little, I am not dense with my rhymes, raps, and riddles, there's meaning to it all, whether its beaming or dull, but I guarantee it's full and fits and flows when I say it to a T, you say my **** blows, well that's just mean, you say it's great, my confidence ovulates, so use it as bait as I eat off this plate, this 5 star rated treat elevated to six star cuisine meat.
I'll continue later in few poems that are greater and like haters, I won't stop planning and plotting out **** like these lyrics, I'm a creator.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 8:17 PM UTC
I met a man the other day--
A kindly man, and serious--
Who viewed me in a thoughtful way,
And spoke me so, and spoke me thus:
"Oh, dallying's a sad mistake;
'Tis craven to survey the morrow!
Go give your heart, and if it break--
A wise companion is Sorrow.
"Oh, live, my child, nor keep your soul
To crowd your coffin when you're dead...."
I asked his work; he dealt in coal,
And shipped it up the Tyne, he said.
2k
Insecure, was the sign on your door,
The door was always unlocked
You were quick to answer with every knock
Your back pocket held a mirror,
it is for protection you said.
A faint replication of self worth
Would stare back at you.
On stainless steel
tear stained water spots left paths
tracing back to your regrets
A slice of the world reflected
in the pointed mirror
everything was more burnished,
but inverted.
You used it
to cut through the ****** tension
Between you and your frivolous guests,
with slick, quick witted flirting.
So sharp,
you penetrated through
Leaving a piece of yourself inside their hearts.
No exit wounds.
When you stare at it in your clutch
it points north,
Towards the star that is always there
For you,
that will guide you home
But the magnetic attraction
towards your thirst for drama,
Sidetracks you.
Like a deflecting needle
That is no longer running on its axis
Free will, bouncing thoughtlessly
With the world no longer holding it captive
Not moving in accordance
To what keeps the world balanced,
What a thrill,
You like the way the world looks
So limiting, so manipulative
When it is reflected on the narrow surface
Wrong side up.
You grip the knife, carelessly
Until you overstep the boundary
Of right and wrong
And you trip on the tight roped tension
That you had strewn across
between you and the other side
And you stumble,
your canny dallying discourse
slips away,
hitting hard, landing straight in the back
of the one who loved you
for your innocent eyes
who didn’t come in
through the door with the sign
but instead came in,
through the window of your soul.
Feb 3, 2013
Feb 3, 2013 at 11:20 AM UTC
chilly morning wind awakens my skin
her mystical electric blue cat
dances in the daylight
me green fox spirit yogas on the hill
dilly-dallying licking air droplets
dreaming of a sacred light,
the mirror meadow is a sphere of reflection,
A rasta moose and a few gnostic bunnies sit in a drum circle
hashing and workin out a rhythm for the dawn....
Bebop bear bares it's soul in the lapis lake,
meditating on his thankful Mother Nature and her blacklight berry provisions,
Technicolor roses nuzzle together by the water,
velvet vines hug willow trees created of patched fabric
as prink energy embraces the wise tai-chi eagles
atop the ruby mountains.
Serene gardens brush away dirt blankets
fire flowers,
light flowers
lilac compassion illuminate the shade
autumn leaves of time flutter toward sky horizons ......
watercolored wickiups
and spray-paint thipis rest closeby
as the timeline continues to be sewn.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 9:40 AM UTC
his voice syllabic brushes
against canvas whispering
lullabyes within dreams,
lingering...
his musky fragrance flush
upon flesh, dallying like
verbs still whispering
between folds of rumpled
sheets...
every noun a soft whimper
uttered. lips openly inviting;
stirring tenderly like a breeze
echoing poetry with passion...
ensnaring heart in web of
his muse; each beat looms
copulative, sliding seductive,
awakening senses...
abandoned ache slips and I
pirouette, rippled within his
verse; succumbing to his
poetic thirst...
still whispering lush verbs
while easing between
silken sheets and breath
quickens...
as ****** of tongue licks
nouns of passion, sipping
spills as labials quiver
against tongued invasion...
and he softly murmurs across
brined flesh, touching, nibbling
trembled aches; inflaming naked
desire as each stanza seduces
me again and again...
drawn to masculinities tease
verse by verse...
Jul 18, 2013
Jul 18, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
In biting bitterness, in splitting
Spleen. Swinging like a shuttlecock,
Back and forth, upon a furry hammock:
Visited by horror dreams, scaring
Vision. Insomnia is torture!
And the rooster hath a line drawn
Against the dallying, dragging dawn.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:10 AM UTC
You bring a fire unexplainable
in burning words that blow
the inextinguishable simmers
and as I lay on my childhood bed
dallying the unexpected tunes
tones that can never set me free
neither radiate the hope to have
You make me watch the shadows
follow their mellow patterned vibes
as the sky shelters in its light
rightly when loves zooms in and out
so untouchable and unreachable
blinded as the judges disagree
numbed by the passing wind
Goodbye all my past lovers
few to count in fainted dreams
as the hymns lay forgotten in graves
no more nights or treason to vision
neither times of love to harvest
as thunders and currents of pain
dissipate and are drawn to a close
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 12:46 PM UTC
I find myself far gone, drifting alongside the beach
of some nubian kingdom
A sharp inhale of starlight and cutting holes
of awe,
she's there for me.
but,
Not in presence,
Red clouds limping through my comfort,
keeping me safe
far far off, in its tempered perfection.
Writing my fiction, one word at time,
biting into my rotten ear,
cracked surfaces of
sugar lined castle spires
pointing downwards,
In the paradox named perception.
Release!
Stretched out in our isolation.
yet I'm alone, becoming longer,
wandering,
raiding into an artificial night
Where no time appears to pass.
Encroaching on the expectation.
for food,
be it wanted or difficult,
for lips, ink nor illness.
The coast brings in
an ease that I drink from,
when dilly-dallying,
along the mad irreverence
of a random bed that you dream of
each time you wake,
each time you sleep,
There is no content in your bed sheets.
Spiralling in and out of information infection,
Oh how? Oh how can I sleep,
when I stand with my back to space?
Splaying limbs as they exert
the last beams of recklessness
- reverting to old habits,
obsession with erratics,
no form and no care.
Riddled with a chaotic mop head of stringed stupid.
How cute.
Juiced from his tender prospects,
intent on separation
entering use
**** bored and loose
Frothy white moaning flow,
tenderly crushing
Contingency.
I avoid moving inland,
for fear of peace of mind
Combing the canal with the brisk
jaunt of my limping legs,
unsure of themselves
in amidst,
the warmest blanket on the coldest day.
An old kingdom,
founded on consumption,
tradition and extraction.
We keep our distance,
I keep my distance.
Cold water minces around my feet.
Pith/Medulla.
Falling to earth,
beneath the sedge.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 2:56 PM UTC
Ambiguously, he was boggled, beguiled by garbled goggles while giggling out the squiggles, to wiggle the signals free.
Deliberately dallying in the Plato piety of proprietary philosophies, he, dastardly deemed, disaster to be, damaging, to the laughter in the chatter of the baggage handlers to another plane.
Manhandler of a plastered paradise, partly in slices, of silly little vices of sacrifices, that shall suffice with vice grips on the lips of the negative with the spices of nicety.
Lavished in lividly living uP the misgivings of lesserly lessons, blessing the blasphemy, in passionate tuck ins, snuck in, upon drunken hunkering in the bunkers of spunkier spiels.
Languid longevity's of luscious lettering, lest will we, count our kills, never ever to leave a life festering in lectured structuring, besting the busy debuts, of flukless frugality, lucidly, counting the calories of calamity, and randomly rhyming without reason in season-less rain clouds, only allowed to put the umbrella away, and fade in play to the part, where we impart patience on the persona from the coma of commonality.
Immaculately conceived, perceived as a ***** who adores hollow hearts, as we, haphazardly heap on the hilarity, in hepatidal waves, through fazes of the common wealth.
Smile in stealth, love no one else, but self and end up in health, at a lonely age in staged stimuli, reminding me why i'm alive, and not allowed to die, while on rewind through the hard times, to smile on the last lines of laser driven lifelines, laughing at the fragile signs on the finer wines, as they break on the bowes of holy boats in bouts against the sea.
Spewing randomly, he, finds satisfactory solutions to the strengthening of his constitution in loosened blue spells, to dispel his ruthless tendrils from your ears.
The fears fueling the finality in his fractured mentality of maniacal travesties laughing at me.
Its just me, unjustly adjusting for the combustion of the build.
Its lovely here.
Laughing in the lashes.
Signing my entrapment's.
Lapsing out the masses and forming from the ashes of smashed happiness, as it unclasps before my eyes.
Sometimes
It just feels right to be alive.
Dec 24, 2012
Dec 24, 2012 at 2:26 AM UTC
In the instant a second presented itself
It dissolved, shrunk to the second...past
Out, gone.....a single thought could not be reinvented
For it was a second too late to squeeze the beginnings
With elementary mood breakers
Could the second have been different, thereby
Creating the onset of a brand new colour pallet
Drifting off, a direction lost to us, unable to pick
Up the tracking device of the rudamtary subliminal
Message, distorted by sleeping particles stored
Latently....dulled to the jazz tones of deaf ears
Identification slaves fired, packed up and rolled out
Partners squabbling, second '2'.... demise
Precious seconds lost, creating 3rd and 4th second
Lapses, prisoners of the past, what was and is no longer
Do we grasp the very second, conscious of the sound of
‘NOW’, cleansing our minds eye, rinsing our field of vision
The seconds may escape, existing in fornever land
Damaged as they trip and stumble in their two legged
Race to the realm of nowhere, continually stepping out of
Time with themselves, soaking up the spoils of
‘None of their business' lifestyles, dallying
In the lanes of borrowed lives, unrecognising
The empty shell of their own............
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 7:02 AM UTC
Ambiguously, he was boggled, beguiled by garbled goggles while giggling out the squiggles, to wiggle the signals free.
Deliberately dallying in the Plato piety of proprietary philosophies, he, dastardly deemed, disaster to be, damaging, to the laughter in the chatter of the baggage handlers to another plane.
Manhandler of a plastered paradise, partly in slices, of silly little vices of sacrifices, that shall suffice with vice grips on the lips of the negative with the spices of nicety.
Lavished in lividly living uP the misgivings of lesserly lessons, blessing the blasphemy, in passionate tuck ins, snuck in, upon drunken hunkering in the bunkers of spunkier spiels.
Languid longevity's of luscious lettering, lest will we, count our kills, never ever to leave a life festering in lectured structuring, besting the busy debuts, of flukless frugality, lucidly, counting the calories of calamity, and randomly rhyming without reason in season-less rain clouds, only allowed to put the umbrella away, and fade in play to the part, where we impart patience on the persona from the coma of commonality.
Immaculately conceived, perceived as a ***** who adores hollow hearts, as we, haphazardly heap on the hilarity, in hepatidal waves, through fazes of the common wealth.
Smile in stealth, love no one else, but self and end up in health, at a lonely age in staged stimuli, reminding me why i'm alive, and not allowed to die, while on rewind through the hard times, to smile on the last lines of laser driven lifelines, laughing at the fragile signs on the finer wines, as they break on the bowes of holy boats in bouts against the sea.
Spewing randomly, he, finds satisfactory solutions to the strengthening of his constitution in loosened blue spells, to dispel his ruthless tendrils from your ears.
The fears fueling the finality in his fractured mentality of maniacal travesties laughing at me.
Its just me, unjustly adjusting for the combustion of the build.
Its lovely here.
Laughing in the lashes.
Signing my entrapment's.
Lapsing out the masses and forming from the ashes of smashed happiness, as it unclasps before my eyes.
Sometimes
It just feels right to be alive.
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:37 PM UTC
I’m waiting
waiting
through my day
for a poetic idea
to come my way
to waft on by
and
hopefully
catch my eye
I’m waiting
daydreaming
dilly-dallying
doodling
my time away
waiting for my
brain to go astray
if a poem
happens my way
it’s never a wasted day
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 1:02 PM UTC
Because every now and then,
Someone slips away,
Passes on to never walk the earth again.
Makes you wonder, how every blessing
Needs counting, and each moment treasured.
You are here for what counts,
Time,
An unsung song for receding tides.
A breath, a whisper, before you know it you're gone.
Walk the face of earth,
A passing wind that kicks up a storm,
Or a silent contender for a game we call life.
Shallow desires, our selfish deeds and dallying with a price.
The shadows call, can you hear their song?
We dream too much to never know the day,
A day when your eyes open to the darkness,
Give in to the voices that call our names.
Will you ever wonder of the song you left?
Joyful or as silent as the beating of your heart?
Will they sing of you, a song of pride and respect?
Because like everyone that deserved to live their life thru,
You were a breath, a whisper,
A dreamer, a believer,
And now you're gone too.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 10:38 AM UTC
to the fore, no dilly dallying,
no words wasting,
I don't write nursery rhymes,
just relay tales re the peoples
I have met journeying on this
natural good earth
I know, I have met,
Little Bo-Peep,
no fiction she,
she has counted my sheep and I,
hers
she pins and pylons,
her tales on my heart,
beetles, bugs and little boys,
crumbs in the bed,
no bleeding hearts here,
maybe a bandaid
on a boo-boo'd finger
this shepherdess tends her flock
and records their history,
the little foibles that make
life's little tantrums into loving poetry
when I think of her escapades,
I recall well that old Yiddish proverb:
*God could not be everywhere,
so he created mothers...*
and when not tending her babes,
she can bake one hell of a good word cake,
on her island~continent kingdom
Jun 6, 2014
Jun 6, 2014 at 11:19 PM UTC
Light emanating from distant ***** of burning gas are intimidated from the children’s vision by the unruly, central licks fluffing about their little fire.
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The wind, streaming in from the warm side of the nearby ocean, picks up waves of genuine laughter and stunning, off-key voices.
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A bloodline of salt water curls the group into a circular haven where there is no need for corners to shadow defensive secrets.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
This is a time of absolute purity as the children’s minds drift to Never-never land and their hearts float within the red wine spilling into their mouths.
===============================================================
They are all the happiest that they have ever been - on the seams of their spines, dallying until the currents will overtake them someday to bury their bodies at the bottom of the sea.
===============================================================
Darkness thickly pastes the surrounding beach, longing for the fleecy little fire to cease its bravado so that the children can fall deeply into sleep.
===============================================================
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 5:47 PM UTC
He was a fine broth of a man
And I loved dallying with him
In afternoons of sun and breeze
My lovely one-man harem.
Such a delightful odalisque,
I suspended thoughts of time.
I greedily took up my guitar
And seduced him with rhyme.
As we fed each other sweets
And made coffee by the jug
We laughed and smoked ***
Together naked on the rug.
We told each other stories
Of places we had been
And astounding miracles
Each of us had seen.
We talked of **** dancers
And clever men of magic
And how the loss of innocence
Was not altogether tragic
Because we got to learn
And could use it to grow
And understand the secrets
We recently did not know.
He taught me how to love,
This man of many stories.
I learned to welcome mystery
And search in it for glory.
He showed me how to look
And see people as unique
And not some mass idea.
I grew up from that peek.
That simple time of learning
And laughing with a man
Who had the gift of sharing
The way to understand.
He took me from my childhood
And showed me how to live.
He gave me a gentle heart.
The best thing one can give.
Jul 20, 2015
Jul 20, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
It was back in those days, the elementary school days,
when we were all friends, characters to one anothers plays of nonsense.
When we reigned over puddles with galoshes or brightly coloured gumboots.
When we wore capes and knew all the sing along songs.
And yes, I do recall, fondly so, that big park.
We were all there, whether in soul or in spirit,we explored the butterfly gardens, our parents and teachers were there too,
a school trip of sorts?
Just a vivid but fotgotten dream?
Who may answer these questions but ourselves by eventually succumbing to the universes natural way and forgetting the questions and finding and accepting the universes other answers.
The flowers of the light May day were in full bloom and that glass greenhouse, the one that intrigued me so, stood just like a castle.
After lunch, when the children were running throuhg green grass or wiping sticky hands from oranges upon the damper grass of the shade and while our parents and teachers sat on their coats dilly dallying, I stopped.
Stopped from my playing like a bunny caught in someones eyes. Was it a hand that grabbed mine or mine that reached out? Lead to a rivers edge, a little stream or pond. Ducking under willow and stepping over bushes and creeping through imagined dens of foxes or coyotes. My companion, my little friend, the face on the memory is blank, perhaps we had even more company.
We held hands.
We held hands like friends in our childhood innocence, before the concept of cooties, before the playground held terror. We sat hunched up by the pond poking sticks and reeds into the stream. Poking at the river flies and mud. Lost in a mystic realm of childhood unknowingness.
And then it caught me. A glimpse that magnified. The little water spider, gliding on the surface as though the surface were glass.
Oh water bug, from my bright eyes and blurred warm memeory you stood out to me. Majestically skating in the reflection of my face. As though you were that man mentioned in grandfathers stories from the book he said he beleived in, that man himself, walking on water. Such grace and beauty in you're perfectly casual stride, a quality I later noticed and looked for in people. Oh water bug, slipping your little bug fingers through glassy streams like a figure skater on an ice pond.
Do you remember me little bug? I was the one, the one with the little hands reaching out. I tried to hold your magic in my hands.
I was the one that in awe
reached out
But like a snap dragon,
in a blink, you were gone.
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 7:14 PM UTC
I should lie to tell you the stars shine
to catch a glimpse of her eyes.
That they wake million year dreams
to gaze for brief time, dreams of
never waking up to never
vividly see.
I should yell to
grandfather light warming closer
moving steps incubating fetal
positions inside feet splashing cracks
across arching pavement ways.
Intentionally broken back, Mothers’
spinal chord seeps ***** through
cracked nerves,
solicitous beads fornicating
under lamps flaming orange
currents.
Your saliva spins images of
laughter for me to see in cloudless
nights over rivers swimming
oceans’ way. Capillaries open
across my eyes crawling towards the ground,
fractured concrete
searching nurture, natural born life steeping
into my blood stream upon sleeping.
Legs carry dallying moments,
lagging steps tripping closer to
never missing cracks in stone encrusted
fallopian tubes.
I want to touch your skin,
fingers pulling back layered
wind sharpened capsules
reach sprouting seedling under
shoes bouncing soul to
toe and back again. Our words
feed;
sketches of moon-tide engravings
upon carbon traces, molecular hair
catching my eyes.
We smile at each other.
Jun 18, 2010
Jun 18, 2010 at 3:29 PM UTC
It came slowly
Like a languid
Dallying summer breeze
So that the world felt no less sweet
When the wind slipped over.
And like it came it went
Into the scorching heat of summer
Into the peril of fall
And finally into the tragedy that is
Winter
But it left so slowly that the seasons
Blended into one another
And later it could not be told where it
Was summer or winter in which
It happened
It was more that almost
Fall and almost winter and almost spring
Were just interchangeable place marks
On the grueling,
Slow road of loss
Mar 26, 2012
Mar 26, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
it is time my friend
to put my thoughts
on paper...
to write you
what my tongue denies
what my heart screams
in the middle of the night
it is time to speak in
the words etched upon
my bones
to give light to this
seed with in my soul
even as the ink blots the paper
my fears rise, and my courage quivers
to give this entity the substance
of words
is to give it the power
of freedom or destruction
but I am weary, so weary
from carrying its burden
through this long peroid
of gestation, I am beyond
beyond trying to carry
this thing with grace
and have now become
a lumbering leviathan
treading heavily through
each day,not evolving
or creating, just barely exsisting
So, if it be freedom,
there will be relief
if it be destruction
there will be release
No more dallying,
No more delay
You left, You died
leaving us behind
no recompense
no answers
just a ***** room
and unpaid bills
You, You, walked
out of life,
without
finishing the conversation
without
any explanation
without
care for others
without
thought for self
You told us nothing
You hid your hurt
till it was to late
till...it..was..too..too late
And tho
I WILL LOVE YOU
til the end of my days
Now, I hate....
I hate you are not here
I hate that I did not see
I hate that you did not ask
I hate the incompleteness
of it all
So my friend, I write
this to you...
then make it into
a paper boat
that I set on
the waters
before
lighting
it afire
in
the hopes
it will
bring
freedom
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 3:22 AM UTC
*I am wine in a jack-in-a-box cellar
Wonderlands, neverlands propelling in a boomerang war
Exalting stubborn as weeds in the gardens of well-tended graves
As far off as the most withered waves*
**I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy**
*Eyes turned upside down like folded floral peels before a fallen angel
Rubbing errant pointed brushes against an airy easel
The teapots are now dancing round rainbow tornadoes
Clocks reverse themselves in a scourge of a prose*
**I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy**
*Singing horses dallying kings and queens with whips of cod
Skinny, scorned nutcrackers lolly gagging for a later maraud
Spoons racing Jack and Jill down a spiny valley of prats
I'd shut them off, they come alive with vicious spats*
**I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy**
*My trappings with all things mad
Wafted me ajar a silvery smoke of sad
I breathe the clouds of my helter skelter
As if in every catatonic whir it flutters rises an answer*
**I'll drop my roses of singularity
And let the world leap topsy turvy**
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 2:10 PM UTC
~for my naturalist, Victoria~
*the poems all end up in midfield,
yellow carded, the game a tied up,
0 - 0 unsatisfying affair, all the shots
way wide of goal as I search
for the perfect phrase to capture my
*twiddling and twaddling,
fussing and haranguing,
harrumphing and bemoaning,
my very own Brexit,
postponed, the hard answers terrifying,
the soft ones, humbug and *******
incapable of lifting a mighty pen,
or a fully worn down pencil scrap,
seen better days, but now,
all leaden ashes, all fall down,
my natural pointer taps only gibberish
in my plain manila actuality folder,
the cut off dates, ignored, so they
cut me off too for good measure,
plenty good bills to due in there,
plenty good ‘orrible poems for company
the pile of to do’s forming a party,
social, democratic, and
anti-septic or skeptic or semitic,
perhaps all three, as they are two jowls
or two cheeks, too many to the windy
all this shilly shallying, or is it
dilly dallying,
is quite simply to say that
my rooted U.K. naturalist
a Sherlockian moors, traversing specialist
cuts to the shortest quick,
by jove, there it is, succinctly red beeping,
in my garden, awaiting a good boiling
I too exhausted from all the
“scrabbling with the day to day”
she so easily summarizes,
though my poetic ego demands an
Ameddican textual emendation*
“hard scrabbling with the day to day”
or
just an all encompassing globalism
“ditto”
ah, Victoria
Jul 4, 2019
Jul 4, 2019 at 7:04 AM UTC
Effulgent my future now unfurls before me
As dallying dawn doth soon become day
Ere long, these fair dreams, radiant beams
will in darkness be drenched and in anguish decay
Effluent my past is recast, and alas!
Each saccharine fiction soon follows
The brain my pen gleaned
Towards tumult hath leaned
Once brazen, my hope is thus
By despair swallowed
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 7:02 PM UTC
Weave and weave and weave
You shall never leave
We can start! here, behold my artistry!
Isn't that a beautiful tapestry?
Oh, I love me a captive audience!
Won't you agree that Athena never stood a chance?
Well? Don't you think?
Okay, okay, enough dilly-dallying!
Final rating! Five? Oh, how thoughtful!
I wonder why others think I'm awful
Must be those jealous songs that some bards sing
I know, times up! Now you'll feel a sting
Have to make you rest!
Hope you'll enjoy the visit of my nest!
Weave and weave and weave
You shall never leave
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 6:18 AM UTC