[Newspoetry] do not grow

[DL Emerick]

To Newspoets, young and old

 

Do not grow consolate, my dear,

Dismissing your advice, my fear,

To submit my fortunes to a fate,

Worse than death, come too late,

Come after shame hovered here.

 

Do not grow less pudent, my dear,

Imputing me in all that you hear,

A standard that none could bear,

A flag to carry, a cross to share,

As knights are but lonely drear.

 

Do not grow wildered, my dear,

Being is all that you must jeer,

Not the gods eternal in doom,

Sluts now strutting for gloom,

As our wild eyes bug out to leer.

 

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