Tuesday, 28 July 2015

The Queen of Caprice

The Queen of Caprice, I call her in my dreams
The one so mercurial; and I a despot dire.
A dolt I might be, but she has her baleful whims
My love is like to ice; and I to fire.

Adroit are her wits, to vouchsafe me hurt
I who flaunt and vaunt to be strong; and of that I never tire.





Oblivious to my yowls, she is ever curt,
My love is like to ice; and I to fire.

Nebulous I might be; to my inimical darling,
As I prattle unjudiciously, my heart's desire
Browbeaten I am, though, by my own bungling being
My love is like to ice; and I to fire.

A conundrum she might be, but to know her I am no Don Juan,
In my heart of hearts I know, she is no charlatan.

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