Thy birthright came from very noble seed
For I have sired thee and given life
And being gentle doer of worthy deed
I fear it must be you who inherits my fife.
Therefore me thinks on gazing at thy head
I act as though mine heart is rapture filled.
Yet my real heart doth now be full of lead,
Alas, dear son, my troubled heart is chilled.
It seems to me thy face looks like a rat's
Perhaps the gracious lady of the house
Forgot to feed this monster to the cats
Or hath replaced my son with rat or mouse
Nay, nay, dear heart, I pray that cannot be
Another knave begat that child -- not me.
The End
(c) 2006 Henry L. Lefevre
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Henry, you are too funny.
poetic excellence. Its wit contents and profound symbology make
it an artful glowing deliverance.
Please check the fourth verseline of first Strophe.
Healthy long creative life, Poet.
In admiration,
Andre Emmanuel Bendavi ben-YEHU
very funny poem,
thank you for sharing it.
Steve
Ha! Ha! Makes one wonder. God must have a sense of humor afterall.
Cynthia
Sandie May Angel a.k.a. Sandie Angel :o)