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Post by rerris on Jun 23, 2004 10:56:55 GMT -5
The Letter
Of course I shall refrain' lament, Of how far it be the letter was sent, And the niggling doubts that etch and scribe, Upon my small life in due the time; But before I look my eyes deceive, In the background to letter received, I am only a lowman, poet, tech, And she; the world it is her tent, Hurry, hurry, roll-up, roll-up, To see the wizardry all encompassing stuff! But lo' I have fallen, let it be said, For she wrote the letter in red.
Yet in reply I should pen a sonnet, To put on the bumper to kiss someone's bonnet, But the soul and sacrifice leave it undone, For alone I still am, the unworthy son. To crack and to crevice my furrowing brow, The words would look meek any-old-how, In comparison to the dove that flies, And sits here looking through your eyes. But as all good soldiers I must be forgotten, As the vision fades with tears on fine cotton, But lo' I have fallen, let it be said, For she wrote the letter in red.
(c)R.H.Elliott 2004
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Post by Elle Rush on Jun 25, 2004 12:27:24 GMT -5
A Scarlet one indeed, Rich! Wonderfully clever.
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