MEA MEMORIAS,MEUM TRAGOEDIIS

Betrayal attribut'd to one,

When the w'rk of fate is done,

W'rds misund'rstood by you,

The feelings und'rstood were none,

Too much milk has spilled,

Usually a time to cry,

Clean up almost impossible;

All one can do is try,

I put an eff'rt in ev'ry thought,

Some w're duly c'rrected,

With all the resources that I had,

Or those that w're carefully brought,

I failed mis'rably, but fought,

To gath'r what I sought,

My heart and head in conflict,

To what my actions wrought,

Holding the cup,I had a slip,

Except that th're was no brew,

With nothing to fall,

There was no drip;

But,of course,being me,

I lost my grip,

And let the cup fall,

Broken f'r ev'r,

Nev'r resurrected;

Just cov'r'd by a pall,

So,I suppose I have to wait f'r et'rnal hell,

Aft'r the t'rture;that is, of wh're I dwell,

Th're's nothing else that I can tell,

Except,as always,I wish you well,

Betrayal attribut'd to one,

At which hour the w'rk of fate is done,

W'rds misund'rstood by thee,

The feelings und'rstood w're none,

Too much milketh hast spilled,

Usually a timeth to caterwauling,

Crisp up almost impossible;

All one can doth is tryeth,

I putteth an eff'rt in ev'ry bethought,

Some w're duly c'rrected,

With all the resources yond i hadst,

Or those yond w're carefully hath brought,

I did fail mis'rably, but combated,

To gath'r what i did seek,

Mine own heart and headeth in conflict,

To what mine own actions wrought,

Holding the cuppeth,i hadst a slipeth,

Except yond th're wast nay brew,

With nothing to falleth,

Th're wast nay dripeth;

But,of course,being me,

I hath lost mine own gripeth,

And alloweth the cuppeth falleth,

Broken f'r ev'r,

Nev'r resurrected;

Just cov'r'd by a pall,

So,i supposeth i has't to waiteth f'r et'rnal hell,

Aft'r the t'rture;that is, of wh're i dwelleth,

Th're's nothing else yond i can bid,

Except,as at each moment,i wisheth thee well,