Prudish Salad ©

Why praise sons who dig, at father’s false claims

While child ‘fraid to gamble, sweet treasure chest

Should be criticised, for not making gains,

When sat in her seat, alone she feels blessed.

All’s obtainable; how do all obtain?

Age burrows regardless, haphazard in field

Chastity is nothing, Red Letters blamed,

Experience everything, tis nowt we shield!

Sins done in shadow, need not come to light

Fully clothed, we are emperor underneath

My Siren why hide, my most valuable sight

To carry dearly, till my maker meet.

Why must we turn green, at pleasures we seek,

At others who’ve lived them, tasted the sweet.


©Do not copy and edit, or reproduce without permission from the author (Abelia May) and full acknowledgement of the author (Abelia May) and website address

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