Slow upon fast
the drawing to a close,
the ambling past
stone-hedge rows.
Smart, red-coated
the mounted guard, moving.
Scarcely noted
crowds proving
which things remain
and which die: The test of
drums hold this reign.
The rest of
plumes and gold braid
are put away to take
up the hills, made
like a Wake.
( Upon the investiture of Charles, the Prince of Wales )
My friend's appetite is more than sprite.
There's hardly a thing that can dull it.
Never will he cease to be obese
with such an all obliging gullet.
Consider the hippopotamus.
Always in the mood to eat more food.
His esophagus is bottomless.
Weighing the facts, might we not conclude:
Hippopotami esophagi
tend to resemble that of my friend,
whose prodigious stomach surely I
will not ever fully comprehend.
Not a few would despair for they share
this burden facing a lot of us.
But it's easy for my friend to bear.
Watson is a hippopotamus!
Someone who would love me.
Mindful of my virtues,
generally forgiving of my flaws.
Love not mired down
in a tangle of conditions.
Someone who wanted my love.
Whose heart quickened
at my approaching step,
whose countenance
brightened at my touch.
Someone I could trust.
With a penny, or
with my ribs pried apart,
warm guts glistening
by the light of the moon.