Post by f0n9 on Nov 24, 2005 11:28:51 GMT -5
As the frozen winds of winter blow
and pierce the warmth of autumn to the root,
a man is seen a'trudging through the snow,
all shiny in his winter hiking suit.
Yet praps this man should more be called a boy;
he has but sixteen winters neath his belt.
Haps my ceasing Shakespeare'd bring him joy?
Too bad! Be glad I don't write this in Celt.
However twas, the man (or boy, perhaps)
comes upon a cabin in the hoar.
He reaches, and with frozen fingers raps
softly on the heavy oaken door.
A latch is turned, the door swings in for him;
he enters, finds a warm and lighted hall.
...and of course, Ari, adorned in Christmas trim.
He greets her, and then joins them one and all.
And so it came to be that merry f0n9
journeyed here to join the yuletide throng.
*A sonnet of nuisancelike proportion, composed by yours truly, the f0n9z0r.
and pierce the warmth of autumn to the root,
a man is seen a'trudging through the snow,
all shiny in his winter hiking suit.
Yet praps this man should more be called a boy;
he has but sixteen winters neath his belt.
Haps my ceasing Shakespeare'd bring him joy?
Too bad! Be glad I don't write this in Celt.
However twas, the man (or boy, perhaps)
comes upon a cabin in the hoar.
He reaches, and with frozen fingers raps
softly on the heavy oaken door.
A latch is turned, the door swings in for him;
he enters, finds a warm and lighted hall.
...and of course, Ari, adorned in Christmas trim.
He greets her, and then joins them one and all.
And so it came to be that merry f0n9
journeyed here to join the yuletide throng.
*A sonnet of nuisancelike proportion, composed by yours truly, the f0n9z0r.
)
)
