You published a small book entitled, Foam;
not many pages in length; and each poem
contained therein described exquisite pleasures
in delicate rhymes and iambic measures.
To fool the prejudiced society---
old prudes' and haters', their ranks steeped in perfidy---
naked feelings frolic in metonomy,
erotic metaphor and simile.
Landlocked, or with an outlet to the sea,
you always thought a certain kind of froth
as sweet as nectar from lavender flowers;
to which you pledged your most romantic troth,
and dedicated your sparse poetry
deployed with most affective verbal powers.
J-Called
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