On my way home waylayers waylaid me
and repeatedly ravaged me ravenously,
It was a dark, dreary and dreadful dusk
and I was alone, lonely on a lonesome lane.
Wasted and waived by the wayside
I was wallowing in wrath woefully,
Until a wayfarer wandered my way
and wondered what with me befell.
Lost and yet livid with lingering ire
by the wanton ways of the waylayers,
I gave in gratefully to his generous grip
of my hand and heaved myself upright
and hugged him heartily.
~03/29/2018
~Alliteration contest by Silent One
Jealousy is the rage of a man,
Whose passion unyielding as the grave
Burns like flames of blazing fire, whose fan
In his hand winnows success from death's plan.
Love goes awry for his fugitive slave.
The king's enemy the rest of his days,
He provokes anger and the fear of threat;
Behaving wisely in all his ways,
Escaping the throes, betimes, he prays.
How useless in full view to spread a net!
Yet bearing the olive branch, he kept
(When once he drank from royal fountains-
Beyond flew arrows and two souls wept)
His faith still, twice, as his master slept;
He was as a partridge in the mountains.
Now, over the house mounted on wings,
As waylayers waylay their own souls
Beneath the tree by bows, swords and slings;
The servant shepherd is lord of kings,
And jealous bones are only heaps of coals.
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