12:30 am

To rise is to fall Sallust said,

Mother Rome is now beastily dead,

Beauty may be decorious

Intellect is quite glorious

But decline is where we are led

 

If you think I wrote that I’ll see red

Or blush ’till I’d rather be dead.

That will be fine

I’ll read in good time

When I’m sober his sheets will be read.

 

Listen to me I appeal,

This riddle is funny I feel!

What Opera smacks

of straight railway tracks?

The wheeze?  It’s the Rose of Castile!

 

Your joke is unusually clean.

Gee, you poked merely my spleen.

With umbrella I sigh,

play along for a guy.

I feel a strong weakness obscene.

 

You look like both past and present,

Yet you hold only a segment.

Take it from me,

Your will is not free.

I’ll show you, but it won’t be pleasant.