Myrtie, you say that my poems are penned to you
Only on days when I've nothing to do,
Otherwise I have no time to attend to you,
Others, you say, are more weighty than you.

Sweet, you allege I have not enough time for you,
Yes, and you say that I hold you but light,
Only when pressed do I reel off a rhyme for you

* * *

Lady Myrtilla, you've doped it out right.



Christmas Cards


I

TO THE GROCERY BOY

Before you send me up that card
With rime and diction far from subtle,
Hear what a now rebellious bard
Says in a quasi-pre-rebuttal.

"A nickel in a poor boy's hat!"
You, minion of a grubbing grocer,