A Letter To A Gifted Girl
Stardom fancies you a Hodful Choosing
Retired, they would’ve said about your dreaming done by the prostrations of your youth day; Girl, you would’ve shaken and rattled them like some banished villain, yet, you still are that utterly mad thing.
Curse them to blind havoc, you would, and you still do but all you’ve got. Your cursing yet soulful love to each and every one of them, but such happenings, you unearthly child.
From Hesse to some far-off jubilantly Aquila lagoon — somewhere you will find, my gorgeous girl.
All those hard-fought views, and for what? A pleasure gandering itself by vacant ends by shallow means.
Come to meet Stars and Kings; reluctant to evasive hide — For prayers for this dump; Friends were harbored — Friends were good — Friends are beaten and gone! Such were for innocence to the young eyes — As I swing through those tunnels and girl you’d better take your ways! Darling, Oh, you’re in it now — seeing the magik beyond town — taint my bones!;
Announces for the chiming string, over the days that were so; Send and weigh my prayers.
Sun be over the tiny valley I called home till I had to venture behind the first hillock and find myself alone.
Hodful and allotted to wasteful bills — tax my heart, and I’ll be the overkill.
Sun shines over this valley, and prayers be sent — over me — First by hillock gandered, last by a forlorn lot of once homestead known.
Gorgeous girl, was that what was sent to me — to bow before and fish fore for Kings and the unearthly stars that I meet; riding the same gut as me?
Gorgeous girl, founded on nothing, rotating on everything by the sudden ends — Oh, Gorgeous girl — by Sacrum and Trust, I end revolving on squeaky chairs, and wooded heats.
Retired, they would’ve said about your dreaming done by the prostrations of your youth day; Girl, you would’ve shaken and rattled them like some banished runaway, yet, you still are that utterly mad thing.
Villian I espoused once of me for breaking the ties, and ruing the homely family to empty letters and repeated notebooks — sway my chances, And I dined the lunching to get myself here, but what do I find but naught?
Gorgeous girl I was — come competing from underhill to the shades of a once had and fanciable dawn, that rebirthed me only to the wider contempt — yet, what did I find?;
I kept those clothes — it wasn’t right —
But you made it without her — without beads;
Without a taste of my touch —
I wasn’t well to know;
I had that chance to blow —
I made it out, I suppose — it wasn’t right —
You went with Her!
Sue my clot — sue my beads and all I dime,
’Twas once worthwhile now it is turned for a forgotten chime.
Call my charm that and I suppose let me acquitted now — rather than thereafter them.
So irrespective — I thought you would know, by my hunkering down to.
I thought you — -I thought you — I thought you would — I…
I suppose them-people be turning to Gold now — them sly beasts — Ah!
[Author’s Note: Sing that last section with a drunken slur to it, and it’ll fall right into place — of this poor Girl.]
A Piece of Catching Zeal:
Marches Of Gold; My Publication:
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