Knowingly I seek something

Good day!

O' Sir here's a prize,
Accompanied with the radiant sunrise.

Like feathers on a chick,
or is it a chicken?
No matter what,
Thou you weaken.

Gustav Klimt portrayed something like it,
used,
Adieu with a moonlight flit.

1907,
Thousand later,
The 9 falls, rolls over,
And loses it's feather.

I wonder how,
with eyes shut,
Did the Sir,
with both hands holding onto his cruet,
Know about the prize,
that was not given to him by a midget,
Despite it being just a box of zinc?




Copyright © 2007.
Written by Emmanuel Joseph Victor (2007).
All Rights Reserved.