a study toward sonnet #947 by FisherKingKQJ
Dead through accident or misfortune,
Don't lament me unfinished, passing young;
In middle age less reads amiss or soon,
Death lamely decimates white crumbling dung.
One dream to which I always have so clung,
Is that I helped you become immortal,
Myself being five hundred years old unsung,
In my clockwork rhymes created your portal.
At my slick, finished verses, we'd both chortle,
Well knowing in time they'd surely be bested,
Punctuated at least, by machine-mortal,
Though never by human peer contested.
I wish you, Goddess, past luck that's trivial
As three fates, I love us both convivial.
(Chorus)
o $10,000,000 trivial
o $10,000,000 diverging
o $10,000,000 forking
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
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