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Tuesday, 3 September 2013

LIZZIE BROWNING ROCKS IN HER BOX

My dear, though it may seem vain,
My tongue was once acclaimed
As sharply precise; satirical, sly-
My elegantly cutting turn of phrase
A thing of wonder to bring tears of pain
To the hardiest masculine eye.

I was once known for my wit
And now I find that wit turned shy
Blushing mumbles stumbling
Solemn cadences marking time
Love/ glove/ dove -
Oh love!

I am clumsily slicking
Kisses from my mouth to yours
On the back of stolen words,
And sadly do I find
I have no skill for marking time
And these silly games of rhyme.

Further, in loving you, I sadly discover-
God forgive me- Oh the shame of it!
Not only have I lost my ready wit,
But all this fierce sincerity, and all this verity
Have made me sweetly tender-hearted.
I pray you find these make me your true lover

For embarrassingly I own it,
They have made of me a very bad poet.


Manuela Cardiga

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