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Afore The Cockerel Crows

Who is this muse afore me stood?
I know her not, I say.
A temperate stirring of the blood,
I bid her go away.
Her seducing, warm, pacific smile,
The shining in her eye;
I watch her handsome form a while
Afore her I deny.


I took, once more, a further glance
Affirming what I thought.
A glowing, flowing, countenance
Upon mine eyes here brought.
I bid her go, a second time,
Yet, still, she must remain
Sparkling in the morning rime
Be gone, I say again.


I close my eyes and hope to see
Her off before I wake.
An angel come to beckon me
And for my soul to take.
My eyes are opened, looking on,
Aroused from my repose ~
I'd surely bid her thrice begone
Afore the cockerel crows.


Alan-S-Jeeves
Written by Alan-S-Jeeves (Alan S Jeeves)
Published
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