Sunday, 20 May 2012
#2 in the ongoing Clog. A beautiful poem intended to capture the romantic, Shakespearean mood which can occur betwixt our two handsome protagonists. This is the original poem:
In times past, I was a lord
Commanding an almighty horde,
I’d grind my foes to dust.
At battles end, Mars wroth sate,
I’d witness the fruit of my hate,
And hold aloft my bust
Metaphor, or a truth you’d do?
Actually, sometimes both were true,
But now I sit and rust.
This is based on my original modified text - not shown in strip form yet until I can figure out how to cram all of the lovely words into my tiny picture.