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The Man Who Drooped (Ode) by -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I.
Echoes of dung haunt the cloister And balm my face in shades of prune, And as each note grows even moister I pluck my bow to its brownful tune. Dancing cherubs parp in turn, Delighting in this swollen scene, And though my lips may lewdly gurn, 'Tis but to hail my love for thee. But passion riseth like the rose, And wilteth in the dying sun Where naked, now, I dance exposed And wilt where once the sun had shone. Suspend each awkward, flailing moment, And hold them in a flask of shame That I may drink my own atonement And relive every droop again. Then casting off, on seas of grief, I'll end this folly while I can For no amount of love's relief Could bid me turn my ship to land.

Up the ladder: Transport
Down the ladder: Tugboats

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Arithmetic Mean: 8.5
Weighted score: 5.941295
Overall Rank: 1394
Posted: May 2, 2008 8:45 AM PDT; Last modified: May 2, 2008 8:45 AM PDT
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Comments:
[10] Stephen Robins @ 90.201.195.61 | 4-Jun-08/12:28 PM | Reply
Right, either age has wittled the Angel's skill to the crusty husk of a brittle old flange or the original angel handed over their details to a new angel who is simply dunce. -=10=-
[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 87.84.68.242 > Stephen Robins | 11-Jun-08/8:00 AM | Reply
....Your words hurt me...

Would a dunce have rhymed "cloister" with "moister", or "tune" with "prune"? Yes, yes, I suppose he would. But he would not have rhymed "scene" with "thee", or "sun" with "shone", or "can" with "land". Those are not dunce rhymes, as witnessed by their absence from http://rhymezone.com

You should be ashamed of yourself, Stephen. Partly for your cruelty towards others, but mainly for your horrid physical appearance.
[10] Stephen Robins @ 213.146.148.199 > -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. | 12-Jun-08/8:58 AM | Reply
How dare you bring the engine of my verse,
That rhymes with shepherd's purse.
I would be nothing without the aid of the 'zone,
And a truncated cone.
[7] nentwined @ 98.148.150.246 | 26-Jun-08/8:51 PM | Reply
classic.
[9] Christof @ 62.121.23.56 | 16-Jul-08/2:15 AM | Reply
'brownful' - beautiful. This poem might have been written for me. Was it? Was it?
[n/a] -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. @ 87.84.68.242 > Christof | 24-Jul-08/5:10 AM | Reply
Yes. You're the protagonist. And Dovina plays the object of your drooping desires. I, on the other hand, am but a humble prune.
[n/a] Dovina @ 68.183.245.117 > -=Dark_Angel=-, P.I. | 25-Jul-08/7:42 PM | Reply
Really, is it true? (blush)
[8] amanda_dcosta @ 82.178.136.146 | 25-Jul-08/4:30 AM | Reply
A lovely read.
[n/a] Dovina @ 68.183.245.117 > amanda_dcosta | 25-Jul-08/7:38 PM | Reply
Please try reading it again without the tarnishment of indulgent optimism, striving to find essences within it that might, with forthright effort, yield its pungent insights.
[n/a] Dovina @ ::1 > Dovina | 23-Apr-20/2:31 PM | Reply
On second thought read is as Scripture.
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