The Fair Youth’s Complaint
Well, Bill, your sonnets finally got to me,
With all their pressures to impress my seal
On waxen fruits that fruit eternally,
Et cetera, so forth, you know the spiel.
Enticed by your advice I grabbed a wife
With features fairly fine but not so strong
That they might mask my own engrafted life,
So sweetly celebrated in your song.
She birthed a boy. I staked and pruned him well;
I snipped and shaped his soul to match my own.
He blossomed, and I watched my own pride swell
Within a youth in whom my luster shone.
But oh, he burst, and spattered me with scorn!
Such bitter fruit were better left unborn.