I Am But a Poetry God

Who would date a poet? And have her name grow, As a garden's eden history, Have her lips comply with ink that smear'd, Ears breed on a poultry of recitations, A fun-fare of words abridge. ** Maidens wish all to be, Such from his gourd of honour shall you drink in perissos, Such from his robe,and by all tongues, Shall your name convert'd, A new age of fame,on a beauty brick, A spade a spade, The new beauty queen! ** Then minds might date back to Venus; Beauty-borne of Dione, And non to dare you to a contest,as Arachne, But in Argo,you and me will thrust, When our ears begin to drown by Arion's love song, What more an odyssey do lasses crave! ** And if by the phoenix of Astarte you wish, Then thy trust is mine a pleasure, Cook not a phobia of distrust, Grab my hands as heartily, For I am Apollo,god of these bleeding lines.