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He was sharp of eye and quick of smile
For the sweet young things he did beguile
Leaving their sides before break of dawn
When they would awake with their flowers gone
O, he was rake, rapscallion, rascal and rogue
For such things are never out of vogue
And dewy-eyed girls hurled themselves at his shoes
The envy of mankind, they were his to choose
His name was Tom, although his ladies would address
Him with a soft sequence of gasps, and the lifting of a dress
And far and wide did he journey, many were his conquests
For there was always someone who would get undressed
And on every continent, his story was told
For while there was still breath in him, his bed would never grow cold
©2006-2009 ~Sweet-Orb-Mace
:iconsweet-orb-mace:

Author's Comments

A badly written sonnet, structurally. Tom likes it, though.

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:iconblazefeline:
As I said before, tres amusant :D

HUZZAH! *slaps thigh* :p

--
These things make me what I am:
[link] [link] [link] [link] [link]
:iconsweet-orb-mace:
HUSSAR FOR THIGHS :P

*sharpens sabre*
:icontomvanhalen:
Yay, moi. I'm so loved :D

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October 4, 2006
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