| O! Fickle Wench By David Roth © 19th February, 2005 A fickle wench, this Muse of mine, Who teases, then my pleas declines, With taunting hints at things unsaid, Then turns her back and walks instead Her vile talent seems to be, To toss a bone of hope to me, Yet when I take up pen to write, To leave me longing in the night. At other times she’ll ramble on, Me, captive ‘til the break of dawn, With careful woven eloquence, Ringing mystic resonance, Haunting me with pure delight, Smiling while her words I write. But other times this vile wench, Stops mid-thought my hope to quench, Shameless tease, who makes me wait, Knowing she controls my fate. Leaving me to wait and plead, For the fire she knows I need. |
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