RootGarden.com

 
 

 

Cancer's Sweetest Child

   
 

Doth grace God with the body she made

   
 
 

inside her mother's womb —

   
 

It gars me draw nigh singing blade

   
 
 

fro eald King Arthur's tomb.

   
   
   
   
 

Each cell's rainbow mitosis

   
 
 

golds flame creatures my eyes can eat,

   
 

Whilst most girls stamp tame features

   
 
 

in combed moors of rotting meat.

   
   
   
   
 

From pussy strikes the hip & leg

   
 
 

that stretch down to her toes —

   
 

Pubescence creams prompt tits men beg

   
 
 

to squash against their nose.

   
   
   
   
 

As long as I am Lancelot,

   
 
 

my sword in heap big trouble,

   
 

I slive the sweet girl Cancer got

   
 
 

from cells she liked to double.