Post by contention on Sept 21, 2005 20:12:52 GMT -5
(Yes I know its long, it's a narrative. Once you go into highschool and read Shakespeare and Canterbury Tales, come back to me and tell me poems should be short. Canterbury Tales rhymes every line and is about 400 pages long.)
I wrote this narrative poem (for those of you whom don't know this. It is a poem, but with characters and a story told. It would be long, and these were some of the most famous from old days. This one was inspired by Geoffrey Chaucer, thank you my dear man. He deserves his place in Poets Corner.) This one is for YC, and those I know there. Most people I know are those from the older days, when it was first constructed. I'm nothing more but a mere simpleton looking around and noticing the change in characters and their main attributes. I thought it interesting, to share views, and as you read you'll see none of them are negative. I have yet to think harshly toward anyone among that place. These subjects focus among people and how they look and act. You shall see whom is involved while reading.
It may take more than one read to catch the metaphorical background I seem to put these in. My favorite out of all of them to draw was indeed the Stanza explaining Graedius. Now that, that was very fun to do. Some parts are hard to explain, so down below in a small synopsis I shall put what I was feeling, and what I was getting at. I would reccomend reading it after you have gone through the poem itself.
--------------------------------------------------
First Stanza: Mere explanation of the corner itself and how I am sitting there, looking out among the street at those passing by.
Second Stanza: Here comes my first introduction of Mailtroid, a good friend. I explain his character, which would be that of a lion. He does have a mane, but it is used as his blonde hair. "Girdle and Giddy" explains how he shows himself in a fun loving manner. The lost in the average line I was trying to say "No matter how much society seems to grow around him, he may be whipped or stung by it, but he comes out on top. He is loyal and a fighter, and shall be at the side to give satisfaction." The lines below that still explain his loyality and show how he would do anything if you were in trouble. The rest of those pieces are description and do hold meaning.
Third Stanza: Graedius, my favorite stanza: Starts out by explaining that no matter what time of day it is, he is always there. The burnt section explains his fur, and how it is kindeled. When writing this line I was thinking of that smooth brown fur he has, and how when something burns, or is in flames, such as twigs they give off this illuminating warmth. As the flakes move over one another, and give off that billowing smoke and smell of some kind of welcome emotion. When something burns at first it is neither black nor white, but brown as the heat runs inside of it. It's beautiful to look at, and thats what I was thinking of. His eyes are like the morning wake in the essence that the "morning wake" is a cup of sweet coffee, and coffee has the brown creamy texture and color to it. No one turns their head as they see him, for his beauty draws them. His tail is what creates him so much. It is what controls him, and guides him. When one sees it they can't help but stare and stand. The cap and cape line refers to how he no longer bears that clothing, but holds it in him for a seconds notice. He is who he is, and has created himself, and is appealing to all.
Fourth Stanza: Explanation of Teh: Here I talk of his looks, and how the waves envy his BLUE color. How he is far more beautiful than the seas. He is neither drinched in salt, or twisted at any measure. And his goals are turned by calligraphy. He adores calligraphy, which is awesome. In disguise line at the start means that he is both fun loving and stern. He is willing to teach and play. His name is strung behind its basis because it is ineviltably an incorrect spelling of The, XD! So there you have it! A grammar man without The spelled right, I always loved that, thought it would be nice to give to him. I hope you like your stanza Teh!
Fifth Stanza: Mystery... oh mystery
Sixth Stanza: To Lazoshi, who is in love with weapons and war. A history buff. This shows his love for it, and in a way how he reminds me of one of those wise men who sits telling stories of the days they fought in 'Nam. He is always willing to share views and teach.
Seventh Stanza: Over Bathroomrage, his dragon self, and how his name of Rage does not succeed to his kind heart and that flame in his chest.
Eight Stanza: YW, his knowledge, and his wisdom. He is the oldest of us all, and gives as much kindness to all as he can. Thats YW, always looking out for the guys he can, he would never let down.
Ninth Stanza: Myself, my body, and my thoughts at the time. (character wise of course)
Tenth Stanza: Introduction to Part One of a story from Graedius, or my views of my greatest friend from what I see and believe.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Poem: Upon the Yoshi's Corner
Fine guided lines, run to my feet;
Coming to curve, at once to meet.
Upon such welcome, they grasp their hands;
To speak as clearly as any man.
Brick over brick, my eyes do dangle;
As I sit upon this rusted angle.
Eye like fire, dance without wind,
Gazing forward, to loom for the win.
Step ahead, foot behind;
Running at pace, to race with time.
Many have passed, few to fall;
I’d beg to give reckon, to one and all.
Story oh story, pages to tell,
Words without paper, formed in my world.
Crystal as clear, no fear in sight;
Change has welcomed this street with might.
Where lies the rubble, from the past;
What came of destruction, when such won’t last?
Warmth flickers and bathes the deep,
Around the corner, emotions do reek.
Shadows wash these walks with welcome,
Yet in this place, some light does beckon.
He would create, His hand would mold;
The Lord to speak, the Journey told.
Yonder smog holds contestants;
Appraisal of mine, surprise is present.
Blackness wraps and smothers each figure,
But with each shape, comes a life to render.
As each takes own, as all break cast;
Closer they come, latched at the mast.
Fate draws them, Wyrd so it seems;
To just belong, that’s all we dream.
Around the lump, beyond the gravel;
That’s where we’ll change, to take life’s travel.
Jackets, ties, and briefcase: to shape our wily ways;
So here they come, all in one, to join the mocking days.
On my tongue, their names lie recent,
A part they shall play, I’ll keep it decent.
Two to a four, marching without band;
Origin and race, from the foreign land.
I’ll tip this hat, and pat these fronds;
Record these records, to sing this song.
Frame in view, the picture is perfect,
Out they come, the unstoppable current.
“Some would say, fur is mere pleasure,
The way he wears it, such words I measure.
No mane of extra does shine his gold;
Tis all wrapped up, the extra is ‘lone.
Girdle and giddy, his steps will ease;
Blonde black paws succeed ones needs.
Lost in the average, whipped by the natural;
Relentless steed, subdued as satisfactional.
Wrinkled slacks, and butter skin;
Hide the endurance, of uncommitted sin.
Shades of majesty, shall shake his lens,
Wild growls, grown upon his friends.
Fear shall crawl, fear shall run,
Guided for you, across the sun.
Inside your heart, there for the day,
Beside your burial, at the grave.
A fellow to meet, a fellow to greet,
His name holds rhythm, his name is sleek.
Mailtroid or Dennis, both I speak.
“From dale of noon, to eve of rise;
Forth shall step, to mercies cries.
Burnt yet kindled, the wicker within;
Tip to toe, the scent of his skin.
Stare so deep, into the morning wake;
Such turn of the head, he yet to take.
Perked edges and splintered fluff,
An organ so noble, and yet so gruff.
Whiskers to wave and wallow goodbye.
Slickest bangs cover thine eye.
To twitch and tense, a tail to course;
The row of his boat, that guided force.
A flick of it here, a turn of it there;
Takes ones lust, and leaves no spare.
Cream to cover, smooth as silk;
To line the tummy, the essence of milk.
Velvet in pocket, sweet as he chose,
Cape and cap, but yesterday’s pose.
Ripples will come, as paw meets earth;
As tender coal toes, shall maul the dirt.
Lips shall splinter, their gems to gleam;
Under the fur, to lay unseen.
What creates he, makes him,
What brings he, takes them.
A name so jousted and treasured as gold,
From my mouth, an honor so told.
Come, Graedius, the wise not old.
“Take me away, my dreams bear lies!
It can’t be, but tis, a man of disguise.
So small at sight, yet large in thought.
‘Ere says the teacher who learns what taught.
Oceans envy in what he bathes,
No salt to trickle down on his ways.
Straight tight skin, and a curved skull;
The ways of the brush, that tread black his goal.
Scales to shine what rays do peek,
And give off strange fantasies the man does seek.
Two hands he bares, one so vacant;
The other is ours, if we wish to take it.
Back and back, to bend ones eye;
To lose all reality, for a tear to cry.
Illusion of books to tower the home,
Where the sturdy being, may task alone.
I am who, who am I?
Grammar shall twist the gracious mind.
Culture shall etch, stones shall heave;
Onto this mind, where battles shan’t seep.
A name strung, beyond its basis;
So bear and ear, and learn to take this:
Teh oh Teh, how you preach;
The lawful tongue of eroding speech.
“Hark, the soul that stands yet to sound;
God’s own soles, shall tap this town.
Woe to the tainted, he’ll drive your nail;
Beneath this dirt, and make you stale.
Lick ones wounds, the green shall frolic;
To burn the sensation, no Jupiter’s commit.
Branches to bend, to break, to draw;
Over the two, that watches them all.
Lead would stutter, as hand would grasp;
To roll the pages unto the last.
Fall would come, to pinch the blood;
Everyday, that he was young.
Illusion would conquer, to salve its mighty flag;
And hoard and aboard such mighty slag.
Fingers to lips, lips can’t part;
No nails to thread, where dignity did start.
Chest shall bury themselves in fear,
Of the pirates boat as they draw near.
Cries of mercy, lament of perversion.
Mercenary shall ride, missionary shall turn them.
Valentines cross, once clogged his hefty scratch;
Before it became of this, before it became of that.
Youth to cringe for welcome of belief;
Here my example, muster to the street.
Womb to child, doth stumble growth;
A name to not mention, but secretly shall boast.
“Crack and twist, wheeze and polish;
War, sweet salvation, come and demolish.
History like stone, scrape at his bone;
Tie them down, but never alone.
Weapons to tickle, the organs are toys;
All a game, for such a grown boy.
Webster is he, who marks the meaning;
Philosopher is sturdy, yet foot is leaning.
Teach me oh teach me, my mistress’s folly;
You whom kicks from this, a smirk so jolly.
Insane from drawback, the glory cries;
Death from battle must yield in those eyes.
Yet so splendor, yet so just;
Could he do anything for all of us?
Grim may reap, upon your stoop;
Time may challenge you, within its loop.
So learn he shall, and shout it back;
The Oxford smarts, to feel no slack.
Cannon fodder, the flag of retreat;
Sliding forward, know not of defeat.
Beloved by many, the purple crimson star;
Dashed in leather, grinched so far.
Give or take, a lesson earned,
The statues hand, to break a turn.
Limping wildly, crutch in grasp;
To remember sharply, the days gone past.
“Hatred, oh melancholy, how you tune;
To bring to ones doorstep, saint of noon.
Twinkling rays, shall match the blade;
To behead such fiend, in fits of Rage.
As he walks, all take penance,
To the woeful name, to speak of menace.
Undying fire, shall keep his soul,
If such shall burn, come grim his toll.
Yet inside thine entrails,
Beyond ones tail;
Doth bask a flame, to dance its beat.
Under tender skin, such rolling meat.
Beneath those fangs, within that snout;
A lustful desire, shan’t you come out?
Lament, I woe, life was heavy;
But a being as such, was all to ready.
Scrolls may say, you know, of a story.
To give dragon’s breathe, its rotting glory.
A mind so sweet, should bloom to flourish.
No skills may he gain, by being so precious.
Yet enough to suffice for all my messes.
Come, come, and finish your steps.
After this, I will take your breath.
“He would wear the robe to show;
His mindful powers, the all of know.
Cap on head, shall mimic a hero;
Physe may come, to take his marrow.
Tip toe he shall, through gardens petals;
As he dips, sips, sips, from the kettle.
Snow to be dyed the stain of men;
Accessible through eye, by all of kin.
Plays to recite, to remember all lines;
Would ignore the value of all gods’ signs.
Aged of us all, to touch that cheek;
Could cause the mute man to make his peep.
Some would brave to say from mouth;
He’d want to be, what is without.
Shallow is not, deep is true;
Guided not hollow, down so blue.
Distress, redress, et tu? You do!
Corner calls him, makes him new.
“Split tongue shall speak, or has,
To presume a tale, those have.
Oiled, like a sun, upon the third season;
Nails to cut, shall share no reason.
Greased fronds, no cook to grill;
So hide they must, behind hat brills.
Rush and rub these palms on brittle.
To the middle, shall pat a little.
Curled tail, shall hook any fish;
But I don’t eat, what’s on my dish.
Darting, stabbing, pupils to throw,
And rip your chest down to the bone.
Speak a bit, learn a lot;
That’s what I like, but wasn’t taught.
Ye to here, I sit and stench;
Hang me high, you’d like to lench.
So, I ask thee, to bring it up;
Shall you mind to speak your luck?
Lore you have, books to tell;
So spread them among, this dying world.
Each one sits, their cloaks touch earth,
But yet still above, Lords precious dirt.
Voices grow, as friends tie tongue,
And recall the times, when they were young.
Listen closely, and you can hear;
Their secret stories, told by seer.
Ears to perk, eyes to twinkle,
Arm on post, my mind would mingle.
Hear I do, of a furry life,
Majestic, wise, and full of strife.
Catches me whole, swallows me wide,
Into the pages, my heart dives.
Raccoon shall speak, with his speech,
Needs no stand to give and teach.
Slim and dainty, without sin;
Lend your ear, let it begin:
I wrote this narrative poem (for those of you whom don't know this. It is a poem, but with characters and a story told. It would be long, and these were some of the most famous from old days. This one was inspired by Geoffrey Chaucer, thank you my dear man. He deserves his place in Poets Corner.) This one is for YC, and those I know there. Most people I know are those from the older days, when it was first constructed. I'm nothing more but a mere simpleton looking around and noticing the change in characters and their main attributes. I thought it interesting, to share views, and as you read you'll see none of them are negative. I have yet to think harshly toward anyone among that place. These subjects focus among people and how they look and act. You shall see whom is involved while reading.
It may take more than one read to catch the metaphorical background I seem to put these in. My favorite out of all of them to draw was indeed the Stanza explaining Graedius. Now that, that was very fun to do. Some parts are hard to explain, so down below in a small synopsis I shall put what I was feeling, and what I was getting at. I would reccomend reading it after you have gone through the poem itself.
--------------------------------------------------
First Stanza: Mere explanation of the corner itself and how I am sitting there, looking out among the street at those passing by.
Second Stanza: Here comes my first introduction of Mailtroid, a good friend. I explain his character, which would be that of a lion. He does have a mane, but it is used as his blonde hair. "Girdle and Giddy" explains how he shows himself in a fun loving manner. The lost in the average line I was trying to say "No matter how much society seems to grow around him, he may be whipped or stung by it, but he comes out on top. He is loyal and a fighter, and shall be at the side to give satisfaction." The lines below that still explain his loyality and show how he would do anything if you were in trouble. The rest of those pieces are description and do hold meaning.
Third Stanza: Graedius, my favorite stanza: Starts out by explaining that no matter what time of day it is, he is always there. The burnt section explains his fur, and how it is kindeled. When writing this line I was thinking of that smooth brown fur he has, and how when something burns, or is in flames, such as twigs they give off this illuminating warmth. As the flakes move over one another, and give off that billowing smoke and smell of some kind of welcome emotion. When something burns at first it is neither black nor white, but brown as the heat runs inside of it. It's beautiful to look at, and thats what I was thinking of. His eyes are like the morning wake in the essence that the "morning wake" is a cup of sweet coffee, and coffee has the brown creamy texture and color to it. No one turns their head as they see him, for his beauty draws them. His tail is what creates him so much. It is what controls him, and guides him. When one sees it they can't help but stare and stand. The cap and cape line refers to how he no longer bears that clothing, but holds it in him for a seconds notice. He is who he is, and has created himself, and is appealing to all.
Fourth Stanza: Explanation of Teh: Here I talk of his looks, and how the waves envy his BLUE color. How he is far more beautiful than the seas. He is neither drinched in salt, or twisted at any measure. And his goals are turned by calligraphy. He adores calligraphy, which is awesome. In disguise line at the start means that he is both fun loving and stern. He is willing to teach and play. His name is strung behind its basis because it is ineviltably an incorrect spelling of The, XD! So there you have it! A grammar man without The spelled right, I always loved that, thought it would be nice to give to him. I hope you like your stanza Teh!
Fifth Stanza: Mystery... oh mystery
Sixth Stanza: To Lazoshi, who is in love with weapons and war. A history buff. This shows his love for it, and in a way how he reminds me of one of those wise men who sits telling stories of the days they fought in 'Nam. He is always willing to share views and teach.
Seventh Stanza: Over Bathroomrage, his dragon self, and how his name of Rage does not succeed to his kind heart and that flame in his chest.
Eight Stanza: YW, his knowledge, and his wisdom. He is the oldest of us all, and gives as much kindness to all as he can. Thats YW, always looking out for the guys he can, he would never let down.
Ninth Stanza: Myself, my body, and my thoughts at the time. (character wise of course)
Tenth Stanza: Introduction to Part One of a story from Graedius, or my views of my greatest friend from what I see and believe.
-------------------------------------------------------
The Poem: Upon the Yoshi's Corner
Fine guided lines, run to my feet;
Coming to curve, at once to meet.
Upon such welcome, they grasp their hands;
To speak as clearly as any man.
Brick over brick, my eyes do dangle;
As I sit upon this rusted angle.
Eye like fire, dance without wind,
Gazing forward, to loom for the win.
Step ahead, foot behind;
Running at pace, to race with time.
Many have passed, few to fall;
I’d beg to give reckon, to one and all.
Story oh story, pages to tell,
Words without paper, formed in my world.
Crystal as clear, no fear in sight;
Change has welcomed this street with might.
Where lies the rubble, from the past;
What came of destruction, when such won’t last?
Warmth flickers and bathes the deep,
Around the corner, emotions do reek.
Shadows wash these walks with welcome,
Yet in this place, some light does beckon.
He would create, His hand would mold;
The Lord to speak, the Journey told.
Yonder smog holds contestants;
Appraisal of mine, surprise is present.
Blackness wraps and smothers each figure,
But with each shape, comes a life to render.
As each takes own, as all break cast;
Closer they come, latched at the mast.
Fate draws them, Wyrd so it seems;
To just belong, that’s all we dream.
Around the lump, beyond the gravel;
That’s where we’ll change, to take life’s travel.
Jackets, ties, and briefcase: to shape our wily ways;
So here they come, all in one, to join the mocking days.
On my tongue, their names lie recent,
A part they shall play, I’ll keep it decent.
Two to a four, marching without band;
Origin and race, from the foreign land.
I’ll tip this hat, and pat these fronds;
Record these records, to sing this song.
Frame in view, the picture is perfect,
Out they come, the unstoppable current.
“Some would say, fur is mere pleasure,
The way he wears it, such words I measure.
No mane of extra does shine his gold;
Tis all wrapped up, the extra is ‘lone.
Girdle and giddy, his steps will ease;
Blonde black paws succeed ones needs.
Lost in the average, whipped by the natural;
Relentless steed, subdued as satisfactional.
Wrinkled slacks, and butter skin;
Hide the endurance, of uncommitted sin.
Shades of majesty, shall shake his lens,
Wild growls, grown upon his friends.
Fear shall crawl, fear shall run,
Guided for you, across the sun.
Inside your heart, there for the day,
Beside your burial, at the grave.
A fellow to meet, a fellow to greet,
His name holds rhythm, his name is sleek.
Mailtroid or Dennis, both I speak.
“From dale of noon, to eve of rise;
Forth shall step, to mercies cries.
Burnt yet kindled, the wicker within;
Tip to toe, the scent of his skin.
Stare so deep, into the morning wake;
Such turn of the head, he yet to take.
Perked edges and splintered fluff,
An organ so noble, and yet so gruff.
Whiskers to wave and wallow goodbye.
Slickest bangs cover thine eye.
To twitch and tense, a tail to course;
The row of his boat, that guided force.
A flick of it here, a turn of it there;
Takes ones lust, and leaves no spare.
Cream to cover, smooth as silk;
To line the tummy, the essence of milk.
Velvet in pocket, sweet as he chose,
Cape and cap, but yesterday’s pose.
Ripples will come, as paw meets earth;
As tender coal toes, shall maul the dirt.
Lips shall splinter, their gems to gleam;
Under the fur, to lay unseen.
What creates he, makes him,
What brings he, takes them.
A name so jousted and treasured as gold,
From my mouth, an honor so told.
Come, Graedius, the wise not old.
“Take me away, my dreams bear lies!
It can’t be, but tis, a man of disguise.
So small at sight, yet large in thought.
‘Ere says the teacher who learns what taught.
Oceans envy in what he bathes,
No salt to trickle down on his ways.
Straight tight skin, and a curved skull;
The ways of the brush, that tread black his goal.
Scales to shine what rays do peek,
And give off strange fantasies the man does seek.
Two hands he bares, one so vacant;
The other is ours, if we wish to take it.
Back and back, to bend ones eye;
To lose all reality, for a tear to cry.
Illusion of books to tower the home,
Where the sturdy being, may task alone.
I am who, who am I?
Grammar shall twist the gracious mind.
Culture shall etch, stones shall heave;
Onto this mind, where battles shan’t seep.
A name strung, beyond its basis;
So bear and ear, and learn to take this:
Teh oh Teh, how you preach;
The lawful tongue of eroding speech.
“Hark, the soul that stands yet to sound;
God’s own soles, shall tap this town.
Woe to the tainted, he’ll drive your nail;
Beneath this dirt, and make you stale.
Lick ones wounds, the green shall frolic;
To burn the sensation, no Jupiter’s commit.
Branches to bend, to break, to draw;
Over the two, that watches them all.
Lead would stutter, as hand would grasp;
To roll the pages unto the last.
Fall would come, to pinch the blood;
Everyday, that he was young.
Illusion would conquer, to salve its mighty flag;
And hoard and aboard such mighty slag.
Fingers to lips, lips can’t part;
No nails to thread, where dignity did start.
Chest shall bury themselves in fear,
Of the pirates boat as they draw near.
Cries of mercy, lament of perversion.
Mercenary shall ride, missionary shall turn them.
Valentines cross, once clogged his hefty scratch;
Before it became of this, before it became of that.
Youth to cringe for welcome of belief;
Here my example, muster to the street.
Womb to child, doth stumble growth;
A name to not mention, but secretly shall boast.
“Crack and twist, wheeze and polish;
War, sweet salvation, come and demolish.
History like stone, scrape at his bone;
Tie them down, but never alone.
Weapons to tickle, the organs are toys;
All a game, for such a grown boy.
Webster is he, who marks the meaning;
Philosopher is sturdy, yet foot is leaning.
Teach me oh teach me, my mistress’s folly;
You whom kicks from this, a smirk so jolly.
Insane from drawback, the glory cries;
Death from battle must yield in those eyes.
Yet so splendor, yet so just;
Could he do anything for all of us?
Grim may reap, upon your stoop;
Time may challenge you, within its loop.
So learn he shall, and shout it back;
The Oxford smarts, to feel no slack.
Cannon fodder, the flag of retreat;
Sliding forward, know not of defeat.
Beloved by many, the purple crimson star;
Dashed in leather, grinched so far.
Give or take, a lesson earned,
The statues hand, to break a turn.
Limping wildly, crutch in grasp;
To remember sharply, the days gone past.
“Hatred, oh melancholy, how you tune;
To bring to ones doorstep, saint of noon.
Twinkling rays, shall match the blade;
To behead such fiend, in fits of Rage.
As he walks, all take penance,
To the woeful name, to speak of menace.
Undying fire, shall keep his soul,
If such shall burn, come grim his toll.
Yet inside thine entrails,
Beyond ones tail;
Doth bask a flame, to dance its beat.
Under tender skin, such rolling meat.
Beneath those fangs, within that snout;
A lustful desire, shan’t you come out?
Lament, I woe, life was heavy;
But a being as such, was all to ready.
Scrolls may say, you know, of a story.
To give dragon’s breathe, its rotting glory.
A mind so sweet, should bloom to flourish.
No skills may he gain, by being so precious.
Yet enough to suffice for all my messes.
Come, come, and finish your steps.
After this, I will take your breath.
“He would wear the robe to show;
His mindful powers, the all of know.
Cap on head, shall mimic a hero;
Physe may come, to take his marrow.
Tip toe he shall, through gardens petals;
As he dips, sips, sips, from the kettle.
Snow to be dyed the stain of men;
Accessible through eye, by all of kin.
Plays to recite, to remember all lines;
Would ignore the value of all gods’ signs.
Aged of us all, to touch that cheek;
Could cause the mute man to make his peep.
Some would brave to say from mouth;
He’d want to be, what is without.
Shallow is not, deep is true;
Guided not hollow, down so blue.
Distress, redress, et tu? You do!
Corner calls him, makes him new.
“Split tongue shall speak, or has,
To presume a tale, those have.
Oiled, like a sun, upon the third season;
Nails to cut, shall share no reason.
Greased fronds, no cook to grill;
So hide they must, behind hat brills.
Rush and rub these palms on brittle.
To the middle, shall pat a little.
Curled tail, shall hook any fish;
But I don’t eat, what’s on my dish.
Darting, stabbing, pupils to throw,
And rip your chest down to the bone.
Speak a bit, learn a lot;
That’s what I like, but wasn’t taught.
Ye to here, I sit and stench;
Hang me high, you’d like to lench.
So, I ask thee, to bring it up;
Shall you mind to speak your luck?
Lore you have, books to tell;
So spread them among, this dying world.
Each one sits, their cloaks touch earth,
But yet still above, Lords precious dirt.
Voices grow, as friends tie tongue,
And recall the times, when they were young.
Listen closely, and you can hear;
Their secret stories, told by seer.
Ears to perk, eyes to twinkle,
Arm on post, my mind would mingle.
Hear I do, of a furry life,
Majestic, wise, and full of strife.
Catches me whole, swallows me wide,
Into the pages, my heart dives.
Raccoon shall speak, with his speech,
Needs no stand to give and teach.
Slim and dainty, without sin;
Lend your ear, let it begin:
