How True I Parody After Elizabeth Barrett Browning How Do I Love Thee Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

How true I parody? Let me discount p[l]ays.
I parody in depth, taste copy paste insight,
my mind stretch sketches through your writing quite
APing Ways and Means, through rhyme’s mainstays.
I parody, layer level everyday's
post hosting f[r]eed, by sun, electric light.
In vers libres freely, sonnet set to right;
I pastiche purely, rarely spurning praise.
Reparody with passion put to use
through griefs, beliefs, rehearsed, though wanting faith.
I parody love’s theme, yet dreams accuse.
Newfangled paints b[l]end colour bending brea[d]th,
Smiles, tears, [p]rune poem’s life and, should judge choose,
gold goblets garner, googled after death.

Eye sought, dunce, how Ellie le Jeune had sung
Lachrymate tears 'gainst fear of dear paid years,
Linked each to each: wan fallacious band appears
In barely mortal gift lifts old and young,
Exterminating muse and mate, Fate's rung
Is climbed sans peripheral vision of arrears,
LEaves fall, all glad, sad, swallowed. Memory, insincere
Jobs backwards, sells life short, returns grain flung
Erases life's shadow shapes, fame's frames ne'er spares,
Upsets souls weeping, though some ghost shapes still rove.
Naught's left behind, drawn curtains urned gray hairs.
Expelled are choice, voice, slavery that strove.
ELected sect's disbanded, behold their
LIEs, preach reaches for Eden's treasure trove.