Thursday, February 5, 2009

The rhyme of self-obsession

That gentleman, framed thither,
Looks quite come-hither.

That’s a mirror, dear me!
Now that I know, I can see.

Might seem fat to ignorant eyes.
Fine food is his favourite vice.

Dare you call his eyes bovine?
Milk of kindness through them shine.

Likes to live his life king-size.
Though royal bills often surprise.

Feels great wonder at many other.
Life is not as taught by mother.

Fights life back with all his tongue,
Semi-soft biceps, ox-strong lung.

His arsenal does boast some more,
Very many arguments in store.

The sharpened ifs, buts and whys.
Spellbinds many a learned wise.

Sometimes the logic has such finesse,
It begets a whole new breed of menace.

Instead of going for opponent’s throat,
The traitor sinks his master’s boat.

Professional hazard, tells he with smile,
Pressing down the bubbling bile.

His bile is travelling upright now,
Mauling a great soul, how dare he allow?

But you must admit, honest bright,
He did not give in without fight.

Even when he’s in self-combat,
A charming verse comes out of that.

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