Thou art no more than a buffoon.
A witless simpering poltroon.
Thy bravery but surface show
concealing cowardice below.
Thy bullying and braggart ways,
will earn thee precious little praise
From maids who value honesty.
A virtue that’s unknown to you.
Despite the richness of thy dress
thou failest always to impress.
For manners make the man not clothes.
Thou art a fool shouldst thou suppose.
That honest maids would favour thee.
They would treat thee disdainfully.
9-May-08
http: //blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
Well executed Ivor! Great read, you sure have a way with words! ! *10*! ! ! Best regards! Friend Thad
I do love a bit of Shakespeare Ivor, doth thou? Its the tights you know, that's what make them look a fool! ! ! ! ! Loved it. Love and hugs Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
An excellent read, Ivor. So much said in so few words. As usual, the flow and structure is flawless. Thanks Richard