02-22-2013, 06:35 AM
The little man will often deign
to spin coarse straw in gilded braid,
and at the feet of vapid maid
the pyrite of his heart is laid.
But will she delve the hidden vein?
I am a queen without a crown.
Frogs are not due a lady’s word.
Your name itself is darkness slurred.
I see no debt that’s been incurred.
My first born son I’d rather drown.
(From one of the odd forms Brandon dredged up for our poetry chess games. I don't care if I have to change the form to improve the poem)
to spin coarse straw in gilded braid,
and at the feet of vapid maid
the pyrite of his heart is laid.
But will she delve the hidden vein?
I am a queen without a crown.
Frogs are not due a lady’s word.
Your name itself is darkness slurred.
I see no debt that’s been incurred.
My first born son I’d rather drown.
(From one of the odd forms Brandon dredged up for our poetry chess games. I don't care if I have to change the form to improve the poem)
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson