Ærchie complained bitterly:
I’m lonely, and sad and bereft
Deserted by muses who left.
I now cannot write
With scansion thats tight
And thoughts of a bosomly cleft.
Michelle offering comfort, wrote:
Oh Ærchie come here now come here
You may weep in my bosoms my dear
You are no longer bereft
Of a bosomly cleft
In my bosoms you will just disappear!
Ærchie replied, with deep appreciation:
Michelle you’re a sight for sore eyes
Your bosoms eliciting sighs
But please do not heave
I DO like to breathe
And utter appreciative cries
As I heavily breathe in and out
I see your arms a-flailing about
I take a deep breath
And you are near death
If you’re drowning then PLEASE give a shout!!!
I love being mothered and covered
in bosoms that likely have smothered
my brothers, step-brothers
half-brothers and others
whose sources are still undiscovered
Ærchie – getting my breath back
a.j.l. may 24 2000