Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Your castle has a moat
to mark for the unawares
the point of danger,
the change of rule.
My fort has a juice box

Your castle has a drawbridge
to allow in only those
who pass the "Hark! Who goes"
test and cause the chains
to move.
My fort has peak roof
for peeking out
and, on occasion
for peeking in.
But only for the Lucky Few
and only in the Lucky Few
moments when all is well,
for a spell. 

Your castle has 
both balustrade and colonnade,
meurtrière 'n its parapets
for staving off the storms
and againststanding and
withstanding arméd swarms.
My fort has a 
pair a pets:
this fluffster at my calf,
snoring and this stuffster
in crook of arm;
well-worn, with eye
missing but stuffed
animals see with squishy bits
inside, not these button eyes.

Your castle has barbican and portcullis.
My fort has a wittle wiccan.  Jealous?
Your castle has both crenellation and machicolation.
My fort has an introvert's narration and ceaseless cogitation.

Your castle has walls of
stone, long-charred by dragon
breath.  With dents by dint
of Minotaur and Harpy. 
My fort is cotton batting,
linen for winnin'
battles with monsters
greater than your gods.

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