Sonnet 490

Oh how you squander beauty’s currency
Upon those lowbrow parties steeped in rum;
Where cigarettes and turbid rot gut whiskey
Serve to glaze dull eyes and render riffraff numb.
There you, a butterfly among drab moths
That flail about fell sordid driftwood flames;
Chaotic dancers round a witches’ broth
That harkens back the stink upon the Thames.
Those riches that you bear be better spent
In flowered gardens gilded by the moon,
Where blossoms buoyed by crinoline ostent
While violins and oboes softly croon.
I pray these words may you your wealth apprise,
And of God’s gifts, a nobler plan devise.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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