Time flies when the fun
Is over
And the rain has washed
What’s left
Of levity
Into the parlor we go
For games with lives
At stake
To bridge mere mediocrity
With the veneer
Of excellence
To thrive like an
Aristocrat
When all I am
Is a half blood commoner
The father the prince
Of laughingstocks
With a marm for a mistress
A mother the teacher
More noble
Than the clan she refused
To join
To be where you are
A desire gnawing
At my very heart
Flooding the gates
Of reserve
Making a wanton wench
Of a prudent maid
To beat you at this game
Of who loves who
More
And be the slave of the
Merchant of hope
Descended from Basque
Will you reconcile the heat
In your blood
With my cold English heart
Are we forever to be at odds
When the West has already
Met the East
In us?
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