Reports have reached my ears that you are cruel <br />and apprehend the damage that you do <br />that countless sleepless nights to you accrue <br />and many stand in line to play your fool. <br />Some have compared you to the pitcher plant <br />that, horns unfurling, reeks a wild perfume <br />whose naphtha s soon bewitch the hapless ant <br />that knowledgeably trudges down to doom. <br />Some have even whispered curious cases <br />who wander witless, hollow-eyed and dumb <br />blind as though from staring at the sun- <br />despondency the figure of their faces. <br />But which of this is fact and which is fiction <br />little brooks the pitch of my affliction.<br /><br />Morgan Michaels<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/traditional-sonnet/
