The heaven stretch'd her a shade.
Fortune and luck on her did lay.
Her generosity had never fade,
But a but remain'd a say.
Lucifer's face she wore,
Wrath and fury lent her no fight.
Even honour and seats she bore.
Yet, a but lodge in her site.
Here tarry'd my arguement:
Must this demon boastfully exist?
For so long he had ham'd our merry'ment.
Prescribe me a pill, else the arguement persist.
Joyfully, should we in this circle?
Or by construction, intuities alternates a triangle? .
Wednesday, March 29, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: problem