Titled, The Caws of Soughs,
Jaak Dawes in person, I fame my name.
The 'quistor of Haggs towne village.
Powdered wig on noggin, I swat,
Ascot of silk in my attire,
Bold in dark, the prosing sloth.
Grasping the quill, ink slew it's brine,
From quiver of the well, galls of oak,
Stains of my parchment writ.
Suitor in my poetic scroll,
Barer of poetic brew, arbiter of soul,
Testicles tight, this chill night.
In swill, I define approaching muse,
Rum down my gullet,
My cock oozing 'thuse.
On knees of bent, I get comeuppance.
Lips bequeath on my endowment,
Aspirations of the 'quistor.
In tittle I shag, crones of Haggs,
Within bookshop, Ole Buttons 'n' Bones,
Titled, The Caws of Soughs.
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