Poetry My Craft

The Roamer

The young lass Weathersby,
Reared a rake lecher
The boy gained infamy,
As a cruel corrupter

Each conniving victory,
Sent his renown farther
‘Til the repeated story,
Hit the ears of a roamer

She vowed utter destruction,
To get his goat superbly
Leaving the boy’s seduction,
An act even he would decry

Not knowing the strategy,
The boy pursued her ardor
She paid him in agony
By ignoring his marker

Dauntless he went unshrinking,
To try a second enthrall
And a third, fourth gallantly
Yet all failed to bethrall

How could this be happening?
No doubt his charming mystique,
And charisma were unraveling
A question of technique.

He pondered the circumstance,
The sea reins in fish swimming
Seeking a wife happenstance
The girl was not worth pursuing

No longer known to philander,
The boy returned to the yoke
Became an esteemed farmer
A winner to the townsfolk

He married Miss Ashebee,
After she went to courting
The roamer from Kilkenny
Who had no use for sorting.

© 2019, Michael Shawn Sommermeyer. All rights reserved.

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