a study toward sonnet #1,152 by FisherKingKQJ
I love the pretty, plaintive Penelope,
Her votive hands are looped with blue veins,
In weaving tapestry, she wends her pains,
If I caught her elsewhere, we could elope.
I sigh, with other suitors envelope
Her figure fawning, as her face wields strains,
As old Laertes' shroud shapes up his chillblains,
Deep lumbago, neck flaps, and aged lope.
My love then wonders him more loopy young,
Unweaving wanders undoing her earlier oath,
I dare not speak of Odysseus bow weft strung,
And rallying rival suitors, I am loathe.
In my sweet sleep she'll interlace exact,
From as he was as he will be extract.
(Chorus)
o $10,000,000 exact
o $10,000,000 apt
o $10,000,000 precise
[Autocube3 - for 3d interactive movies.]
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