Beg, I, your pardon

Beg, I, your pardon

Time did grant

on Leigh hunt

poet the great

with adorations in spate

for his appeal, emotional

to make his youth eternal

despite his diseases and decay

Wealth old-age and death on the way

to live with the kisses of Jenny

years many,

centuries two

adoring it as love true

but now

with time’s flow

neither a Jenny  likes, it to  remember

changing with the modernity wonder

Noir it will exist with time

say it as its work of piety or crime

Future to present then to past

in underneath of time, all gets amassed

vanishing in the arenas of history

then to evening grand ma’s story

and then perish in oblivion

No Hunt no Jenny will be there under the sun.

Hey, poet! Bbeg I, your pardon

it is time to roleplay as per the createror’s fun.

P K Routray

in the service of the Lord

(As an adoration to

Leigh Hunt, an English essayist and poet who lived from 1784 to 1859, wrote

Jenny kiss’d me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in!

Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,

Say that health and wealth have miss’d me,

Say I’m growing old, but add,

Jenny kiss’d me.)