Bootleg Shakespeare

Ye’ Olde Poem.

Ode to Keratiné

O’ maine of grandure.
Why hast thou left thine home?
Bestower of beauty for all to gaze.
Thy pride of Sampson,
e’re the facilitator of his undoing.
For withe thou returnest with
thine vengence.
The curse thou hast now bestow’d
upon thy master. Thrice thou
hast beseechéd me. Lying in wait,
hidden deep in the darkist chasm.
Stow’d away in waiting till thou
springeth forth with the air of life.
Thy object of hideous affection.
Retreatest thou when confronted
by thine master.
O’coward of age and ill-respect.
O’manifestation of age, gathering
to sucumb the sounds of joy till
only a muffle trickle to thine master’s
ear. Once a loft in high respect, thou
hast recompensed and disperséd to
regions unable to grasp with
thine masters’ own hands. Curséd
you are until the day thine Master
lopeth you from your new found
place of refuge. Enjoy thine new
strongholds for twilight is near.

By:
Lance Hansard