Poem 210 – Coming Short

All human thoughts come short

Milton, Paradise Lost, Book VIII, 414

You asked me for a poem; I fail you in that regard,
For I commit pen to paper and find in myself
Only a fraud, lies designed to win favour,
Whether I wish to praise your looks or manner, with this
All seems false, and as such I throw down my pen,
And neglect to pick up your challenging glove
For at the hand that cast down the garment
All my words, no, all human thoughts come short.

***

Dear readers,

With this, we end the epic run of poems today – a simple love-poem.

The Hapless Neo-Romantic

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