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Grace, I do not lack resolve. I'd be
On you in a minute if my little servant
Still would harken to his master's
Call. He, alas, remains asleep, and I,
Embarrassed, dawdle here with probing
Tongue and conversation, preludes
To the precious act we both had hoped
To undertake. I'll see a doctor soon,
I swear, and, surely, he will name
The nostrum which will give us what
We want: a servant roused, and
Stiffened with resolve.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 13 times
Written on 2012-11-17 at 22:58

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