Old man Time, a servile little fellow,
Filing the lion’s nails with immense care;
Freeing tigers from teeth which are yellow;
He plucks phoenixes straight out of the air;
And winds his great grandfather Clock of Time
Dressed up like a maid, with apron and all.
In the background occurs Life’s pantomime;
In which I play the very greatest role.
But, Time, I request of thee, a favour,
My mum, may she keep the semblance of youth?
Or the two of us will soon wage a war,
Which I’ll lose from that whale, and that’s the truth.
So please keep her wrinkle-free till I’m gone;
And am freed, for good, of that devil’s spawn.
Author notes
Based on Sonnet XIX.
Shakespeare must be turning in his grave...
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I like how you have kept this in iambic pentameter, and it is quite a good poem. The meter slips and slides a little in places, the language slightly forced at times, but overall a good piece.
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I liked it too. Not a very nice thing to say about your mum, though. ;>)
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You were wrong, this is brilliant and in iambic pentameter too. Kudos to you.
This is both deep and funny, not easy to do.
Have some well deserved applause.
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a cute poem
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