Toast to a Dead Poet
His stature mattered not, on Windsor’s path;
composing verse 'neath Forest canopy.
His written lines were like a woven lath,
they opened doors to new reality.
Consider this: his wielding of the pen,
with lasting verse as etched upon a stone;
like Arthur’s sword that burned the hearts of men
and scorching souls unto their very bone.
I stand in praise ... and lift my crystal glass
and toast good friends as we recite his quotes.
"To he who chased his share of lovely ass,
in all of Europe's finest petticoats."
Satirically he penned his lines so brave;
perhaps the Greek is shaking in his grave.
Silver trophy winner
Bronze trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Perfect, as always, and I thank you for the grin 
Love to you, lil sis, Lane
