Title: You’re a Bulb

 

If I wrote heavily to disguise, 

the masque would Parade.

Your prowess of sat,

the horse of rat,

a Mane’ tale.

To Plates,

the Shoes,

to horse,

the Withers.

Poet’ throughout,

Moat’ and route,

mud the Packing,

garden’ the Plowed.

Breadth is dead,

the Fire is Stolen,

a Fur for the Mouse,

a root for the House.