Órtos

I swear to thee, by season’s crazed weapon,
That squeezes life out of choices’ favor.
By the seductive magnet of the hay,
That distorts holiness of the yet day.
By figures scribbled by the light’ning,
Concealed by the cloak of the lofty mists.
By the lyrics of the dusk in octaves,
Maintained in melody, rhythmic sway.
By Cupid’s sheath, assembled wraths in gay.
Eager to pounce on emotions they wait.
By the Sherbet ball with a million legs,
That travels far without leaving its bed.
By the sacred letters the cherubs say,
I’ll never ask a lady out again.
19:08:11:16:10

Note: Inspired by Hermia’s response to Lysander, her lover, in William Shakespeare’s “A Midsummer Night’s Dream. ” Act one, Scene one.