Dec 16, 2010 22:39
Because we haven't had enough flatulence metaphors.
Love's Offence
Sir John Suckling
If, when Don Cupid's dart
Doth wound a heart,
We hide our grief
And shun relief,
The smart increaseth on that score;
For wounds unsearched but rankle more.
Then if we whine, look pale,
And tell our tale,
Men are in pain
For us again;
So, neither speaking doth become
The lover's state, nor being dumb.
When this I do descry,
Then thus think I,
Love is the fart
Of every heart:
It pains a man when 'tis kept close,
And others doth offend, when 'tis let loose.
poetry: 17th century,
poetry advent calendar 2010,
poetry,
demonstrations of outstanding maturity