Our Blissful Oath Poem by Michael Witkowski

He sends rockets to the sky
he is a spy
a perfect glance
increasses your winning chance
but as you flutter and fluster
in midst of your chancing bluster
you earn a heresy for making
the meanest horrible waking
of the tempest up our shores
which carry not the trifling bores
only demanding to do the chores
liitle taking heed of the woe sores
they inflict on our dread dreary vale
in which we are too soft to impale
our wrongdoers as we vowed ale
and christian love to be frank and hale
in the face of our transgressors feared
the sanctity we never boldly neared
but lies on foes we never smeared
rather ourself- not suicide- we seared
this be our oath and blissful gloomy doom!