© G. V. 06-29-2013, All rights reserved
Prithee fair maiden for the knight, that com'th
amid the mists the sound of hoofs birds harked
from darkened woods the Red Sox hymn he hum'th
on rocks the chestnut's hipposandals sparked.
And whither tallt he go'th, for virtue's worth
endeavors in the past and feats he wrought
eloped with thee beseeching lust and mirth,
now saileth to New England 'pon his yacht.
Whence comest thou, fair maiden of the mist?
refulgent and caliginous thy sight,
noctilucent and by the winds sole kissed,
responding with negation to his plight.
A box of chocolates doth naught to enchant
behind her veils the Fenway she recant'th.
© G. V. 06-29-2013