Answers
O, ye of many questions
How thou dost annoy me
With thy never ending fountain
Of mellifluous, yet provocative
Interrogations and inquiries.
Lo, I am weak from illness
But more than that, from perusing
All thy probings
Of my cranial gray matter
And the subsequent headaches.
Alas and alack!
When God created thee
Out of the miry clay
Surely He didn't mean
To fill thy head with
This virtual multitude
Of endless questions.
But then He blessed thee
With so much of so many things
Not the least of which
Is thy charm and tenderness
Not to mention
The sweetest lips in all of creation
And for that gift alone,
I can forgive thee of all
Thy aggravations.
Indeed, my prince
And Knower-of-the-Unknown
I would venture to say
That with thy flowery prose
Of yesteryear
Thou would surely maketh
Even Keats and Shakespeare
Throw down their quills
And give up any notion of
Ever being a poet.
Not to mention discouraging
D.L. Lawrence to stop
In the middle of writing Lady Chatterley's Lover
And confess that he cannot compare
To the erotic mysterious odes
To love and sex that thy hands
And imagination have wrought.
Indeed, again,
My wandering troubadour
Thy words are like a enigmatic road map
To unknown territories and unseen delights
Spread out over the page for me to follow
Not knowing if it is true what thou hast written
Or just the act of throwing words together
With no thought at all but follow blindly I must.
And as to thy latest batch
Of questions, questions, questions......
Asked by thyself and also myself
From the depths of my wondering heart
After much deliberation and sincere
Searching of soul............
I must give thee the answer to every question
Both large and small that thou hast asked
And it is simply this:
Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!
©by Voo
May 3, 2019
3:15 a.m.
🤡😜👀😍🤦♂️🤦♀️❤
Questions by Bamboo
🤡😜👀😍🤦♂️🤦♀️❤
Questions by Bamboo
