I know, I know.
Chrysanthemums do grow.
I've caught the breeze my love
that fans the flames,
a male and horny dove
above the games.
I could not give a wee
about the crap,
but will you send to me
your nectar' sap?
I shall, without due haste
look for your sign
a Google cut and paste,
a single line.
It matters not, of course
they say the thought
is in the Trojan Horse.
Perhaps for naught.
So many years have come
only to fade
inside a shade of rum
and lemonade.
I talk a heavy spiel,
just to impress.
But my Achilles Heel
is YOURS to bless.
I would pay all I own
to make the time
and point ole Baldur's bone
into my wine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is something faintly Shakespearean about this poem. It touches the heart and soul of the reader. love, Allie xxxx