My poetry dried up each tear
I’d spilt whilst sobbing in my beer.
It held me, like a faithful friend,
when my sad world seemed at an end.
Throughout my lost and languid life,
(while shackled to a wolfish wife)
those stanzas urged me bide my time.
In sunless shade they shone sublime.
In dungeon’s dank, dark days and nights,
temptations, trials, fond fancy’s flights;
like when she’d chilled me to the bone
and sorrow’d turned me into stone,
they whispered, in a still, small voice,
(which made this rhyming rogue rejoice.)
Verse vowed true love would visit me
by streams of sweet serenity,
where I would tread my twilight years
with Venus, through this vale of tears.
They swore: “These sighs, you’ve sown in time
will reap romance and real gone rhyme!”