Mum or Mom, whichever Title you wear
Clip this Gold Pin and wear it on your Dress
With them - and Daughter - such Healthy Pride bear
These Fortunes accord; And Grace you impress
I mean this oft; Though my ID's betrayed
Consort this Red Skull despite tamed intent
Yet base-lined reprieve of these Thoughts relayed
If Hearts and Souls live in perfect content
My only word - Truth - that these Two connect
For helpless am I stung to Daughter's Fair
In her own Best - fly Forms at dive and beck;
Her Prince - down below - sport Pillars in her care.
Watch that Board. That One asking you to Sing
That Torch heating her Stars; And made her King.

So many Patties fry for your Reward,
Still puffed under knead their Dough tries to bite
But what of Taste, if consider the Hoard
Forget this Flavour by Hunger incite?
Yes. Food. The regular Consumptory
Hidden in that hose which you call a throat
How far would you reach? At times compulsory
Lick choiced Branches whilst the Fruits will gloat
As for me will my Basket's market spend
As soon as the rains wash my raisins quench
For Assurance thereout; Another Thief lend
Networked my Returns; Then bathed in my Stench.
Fine. If that be the Course of how you Play
Go eat your Patties. And have a Great Day.

Most have my Bearing Hands present in Faith
And always are Heated Dogs tamed and true
Yet if these Swords stab; Score checkers on my face
And see such Love just evolve into you
Heater begets my name; Stock's Rage embed
Past seven dials enough for me to snap
Blame the Drum in me; The Beater pumps dead
Forlorn this Campaign and take a long nap
Whilst such I dream; And Dreams dispel more gum
Long before the Scribe must compile your Creed
With such I chew; And proppled me to mum
Know her silent ****** longs for your need.
My Bearing Hands fail; And fail for a Lie
Pronounced my in-birth; And flickered my eye.

Hark! Bestow my Rival Literates bare
Yet Gold must be their Sincerities take
For that I Praise; Souls pawn and cast my Ware
With Finer Pens sketch him a better Shape
Shape, you say? That which a Mother would spend
For treble hours sum her Nine Month's Due
On such Degree, parallel his Roman bend
Then insert your name what you both can do
For some - Himself; For others - Family,
Two Royal Themes which will always write-out
And in-between - your Life and Sanity,
Two Mouthful Memes which cannot win this Bout.
The Master-of-the-Miniscule dabs his Paint
Whilst the Mistress-of-the-Glass wipes his Saint.

With her by your side, and yours by her brow
A Summer's Day Film we can both agree
Though this I lack; Be un-promised for now
My Wing-Fingered Life sheds yours to be Free
So by this Hour the Sun-God installs
And flips his Countenance with that of Yule
So now it's the Season; And crispy leaves fall
Remind her of Age and Faces a-new
Now. She is yours. Dig deeply onto her
Leave no Restraints. Absorb her Essense bloom
For shrill delight your Tan-Shine's price confer
And Angel the New Name makes for New Room.
Such Picnic, then, was worth your scented fun
Cross her Lips with yours; And ignite the Sun.

If the Reddened Mum would seek to Forgive
My Lone and Whale-Levelled Voice
Perhaps the Healing Tome would allow me to Live
And make Good Aspect on my own Choice. =))

Either your Phrase, your Cause, your Sensation
Blind or Reveal your Inner Tendons prove
Which we, of Loyal Customers mention
To purchase more of this Shop-Lifted Good
It's never wrong to Share such Blessings once
Or pray a Novena to concilliate
Or - ask the Pope's Palm for amusement - bounce,
An expected Fantasy anticipate
From whose Permission, then, shall we beseech
To beg your Insights in deep, due respect
Or, by a Tooth-brush are we out-of-reach
Would then bolt your Castle by circumspect.
You are still a Knight. Half-Armoured at that
That part which still bares - embalm with a mat.