Your lady came bleating instead of singing
Made me to remember-
That her best friend as a child was
Old grandpa’s nanny goat
They followed eachother
Around in the rounds surrounded by round roses
Now, she comes trouble-singing in the choir
She sings trouble in place of trebble
And terror instead of tenors
Troubled trebbles, terrorizing tenors
What made me hate her the most is
–
She is a Peacock.
Mine was a coy mistress
Not coy but shame-faced
Did she hang around with men? Not really.
Or with goats and dogs as a child?
I wasn’t there.
All I know is _ She wasn’t born
When she was christened.
I first met her in my dreams.
No. But in my head at night.
Just friends, we became just friends.
But my coy mistress is changing habits.
Her adaptation shifting from original
In a stable habitat and climax community,
What a Chameleon life!
My cheerless coy mistress now
blathers blatantly in turbulence.
