Be kind

Enmeshed to all those plodding few,
that doubt not the quiver of a talent and the cauldron-eyed.
And do we all but doubt the men's men purely out of sight and out of dance?
Or am I but the panting few not to quiver?
Longing for the weather change, like Stewart and Monroe,
whose deceit caused but an image in the wisest of courts.
But only few courts deserve a patting to.
Panting still, like a human, where's the humour in that?
Not but the prophesy states all men shall not be in favour,
with the kingly gifts of sage, and the myth that should endeavour.
Leaning forward now, still enmeshed, still panting, still cut off with humanity in fruity galore. But to teach a talented little girl the general score of being kind is last of my talented mind.