Post by Stanley Brown on Sept 17, 2013 19:39:59 GMT
Be there a place for scribes in Heaven when they are deceased
That I knoweth not, but if 'tis so, then I am exceeding pleas'd!
O but it must be a blesséd place where gentle souls can rest
And write blank verse to get thoughts off of their chest
Where perhap' they may gentle speak in rhyming tongues,
And take weight off their feet, relaxing sitting on their bums.
I shall go there when I have kicked the bucket I do expect
And thus my whimsied scribbles getteth their due respect
When perverts and freaks stoppeth their cavils at my poetic word
And I will, sweet scholar I, rise above them like a turd
Floating 'pon the clouds of Heav'n, my words not washed away
But worthy of eternal life until when cometh the doomsday.
Yet do I long for it most ernestly, most piously and cannily:
With all the best wishes from the poor old poet Stanley.
That I knoweth not, but if 'tis so, then I am exceeding pleas'd!
O but it must be a blesséd place where gentle souls can rest
And write blank verse to get thoughts off of their chest
Where perhap' they may gentle speak in rhyming tongues,
And take weight off their feet, relaxing sitting on their bums.
I shall go there when I have kicked the bucket I do expect
And thus my whimsied scribbles getteth their due respect
When perverts and freaks stoppeth their cavils at my poetic word
And I will, sweet scholar I, rise above them like a turd
Floating 'pon the clouds of Heav'n, my words not washed away
But worthy of eternal life until when cometh the doomsday.
Yet do I long for it most ernestly, most piously and cannily:
With all the best wishes from the poor old poet Stanley.
