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You send me into a trance
riding on wheels as chariots
never doubting I be the prince
reeling charms meant for patriots
when rosy winds allowed a prance;
and wallets fuss not on choice carrots.
Your hips softly spoke of love enthralled,
glowing still under rainbow coloured rays,
leading me thru a path to journeys herald
of love bellied in the gloss of lavish hays,
never attuned to pale wallets, spiralled
by the fated reality of mortal days
Now you tell of love in seasons;
how my emptied wallets had
left me bitter with poisons,
even turned me into a lad
sapped of adult reasons
and cruelly left for sad
Now you say; none
needs a biter man
or a broken tone,
that all need fan
rosy links cone,
or bear the tan.
