Post by Jamie on Jan 28, 2009 10:20:56 GMT -5
Come one and come all, see the poets do battle!
Their quills finely sharpened, as fine as their wits!
The boldest of verses shall triumph o’er prattle,
As authors of lesser works shiver with fits!
Can words fiercely forged in some purest emotion--
In love, mayhap enmity, meant to amuse--
Portray these combatants’ own surest devotion:
The finery writ at the hand of the muse?
Now watch as their quills, they do quiver intently,
As each poet drips ardent sweat off his brow,
With bodies betraying the words rendered gently,
Their eyes lost in wondering, “Is it enow?”
Whilst I sit and watch, a mere maker of mentions,
Commenting upon what I know naught about
With (may I assure you) the noblest intentions,
Describing these scribes ‘til the last is cast out.
Their quills finely sharpened, as fine as their wits!
The boldest of verses shall triumph o’er prattle,
As authors of lesser works shiver with fits!
Can words fiercely forged in some purest emotion--
In love, mayhap enmity, meant to amuse--
Portray these combatants’ own surest devotion:
The finery writ at the hand of the muse?
Now watch as their quills, they do quiver intently,
As each poet drips ardent sweat off his brow,
With bodies betraying the words rendered gently,
Their eyes lost in wondering, “Is it enow?”
Whilst I sit and watch, a mere maker of mentions,
Commenting upon what I know naught about
With (may I assure you) the noblest intentions,
Describing these scribes ‘til the last is cast out.
