The Art of Kindness A Limping Sonnet
How the art of kindness doth excite,
The ressure and the interventing tear,
What horizons have they fled,
What old time’s blearest dream!
But atta pressure of the Two Team,
Finding nothing to surfeit the bloated corpse,
Rabbed the Whole She bo be bang
And rounded them a Team.
Beam! Bleam! So no one cared.
Except the High Financier.
Ah, but wine was never Made
That sorely tongues gave grace & aid.
Because I cant write a sonnet
Does that make me Shakespeare?
There’s a sonnet of the lotus
A rubicund rose
Death in a rose
Is prouder than satin
Emerald Isles
Blest
In the Archipelagoan
Shore –
Ferry’s arrived.