A weaver of prose and a tinker of rhyme. He believes that even before the foundations of the earth were designed, words still existed. He writes not for the volatile commercial markets, but pens top-notch opuses to quench the insatiable urgings of the Muse.Hannington believes that he's been called to fill the gaping gaps left by the inimitable pens of Shakespeare, Christina Rossetti, Robert Service, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, William Butler Yeats, Rudyard Kipling, Waldo Emerson, Edgar Allan Poe, Coleridge, Christopher Marlow, Milton, Donne, ...This list can never end - and I have already done injustice by omitting a lot of truly gifted old souls.
Are you the Aphrodite of the Greek tales
Or the Artemis who admirers drooling sent?
No, for Aphrodite had her little flaws
And Artemis the fortunes of Orion bent.
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Handsomer men of better height wonder
Where the secret of my irresistible charm lies;
They do not believe it when I enter the pub
And push all the dazzling girls to their highs.
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You may rest awhile if the going be tough,
Take a breath when the terrain is rough;
Let the oars get some respite
And rower fresh viands bite.
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I cherish the pride of hard toil,
The very solitude in which it's done;
I love to stay away from crafty rest,
With glum zeal as the fort and gun!
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I should have said this on that sad 9th of December,
The year 2009 when your breath forsook the corporeal,
And went to repose among the gleefully dancing stars;
And Delay to say this deals my soul an incurable beal.
...