(Untitled)

[bo_brylanski]

I may be dirty as a pot,
I may be full of fleas;
I may be dangerous or not
But get down on your knees!

I may crawl in your window
At six o'clock each morn,
Or I may yowl 'til you all wish
That I had ne'er been born--

But worship me, and love me,
And write me every day,
Because I'm your darling Bo,
A lost and lonely stray.

Comments

[tina_tottenham]

Huh?

[bo_brylanski]

It's not a very good poem, but I don't care. At least it rhymes, and it's not abstract or metaphorical.

[tina_tottenham]

Not even! This is not me. But it is special.

[bo_brylanski]

A metaphysician, whose affinities rather with flowers and birds and all enhancing innocencies than with dark human passions, who can think no ill of man or God, and in whom religious gladness, being in possession from the outset, needs no deliverance from any antecedent burden.

[pennyspotless]

Are you daft?

Critics be dashed!

[bo_brylanski]

Great poets are often misunderstood.

[tina_tottenham]

I heard you're a pussy.

[bo_brylanski]

I had hoped you would be more sympathetic. I'm deeply disappointed that you chose to be unkind.