Friday, April 29, 2016

Sonnet #18 (poetry for mothers day.)

Shall I compare thee to a bale of hay?
Thou art more dusty and far less neat.
Rough winds do toss thy mop about, I'd say,
Which looks far worse than hay a horse would eat.
Sometime thy squinty eye looks into mine
Through stringy, greasy hair that needs be trimm'd,
And ne'er a horse had such a stench as thine,
As though in stagnant sewers thou hast swimm'd.
Thy disgusting image shall not fade;
This my tortured mind and soul doth know.
O, I should love to hit thee with a spade;
And with that blow I hope that thou wouldst go.
So long as I can breathe, my eyes can see,
And I can run, I'll stay away from thee...


Five Hundred Pound Peep said...

LOL good one!

q1605 said...

I didn't write it so I put a link to the site at the bottom.

Joan S said...

Kinda unfair to the bale of hay, it does have a purpose. I guess my mother has a purpose as fertilizer now, but they are burying her in a bottle.

q1605 said...

Yeah my mother never did an honest days work in her life so it's high time for her to give something back.