An Edge Is Keen Poem by Avery Eglantine

Moments agone thy golden scripts
aye! mine beseech, thine spoken rede
avaunt yon them notorious non-wist
certes, mine gracias to our corrade

In wreath, seized I; in mine total yammer
philosophunculist-I am reviled
Neither I nor you're ne'er flammifer
Neither I nor you could've kindle

forby time, o'er thither mine shade
was I tomnoddy for mimicry of puissance
Mine yede thither, the drums it'd raid
sith I yclept naught; my deed's accordance

Aghast I towards in thine character
yet Sought I hindrance in absolute hid
thus I dig anon apace to gather
mine lobes conscious amiss it leads

Thy bower, thy bower in bossom within
in chimes winds blew; aye edge is keen!
In concourse, thine weird, thine genuine
thine wile I caught none could've seen

Indeed, Edge was keen! aye! Edge was keen!
eynes filled naught mere but filled full
sunder real to unreal lies 'line so thin
wayward am I? aye-thus youth yields fool

My thralldom to thee; mine poetry
hath built no shame nor agony
shun the light at times to me
yet know after rain, I'll be free

Gates, its key be brought by comrade
forby time, o'er thither mine shade
roses and daffodils on me be laid
to misanthropes I'll be never frayed.