Adieu the happy year,
Run, run the Trojan horse
Towards the servile marriage bed
With all inglorious splendor.
The deadly weeds of unhappy moments
If ever entice you as dew fresh grass,
If the supposed Helen with supposed charms
Riding piggy back over thy supposed adolescence
By unfretter all the jockeying suppressed hunger,
Invigorating each part to speeding fantasy
Making you an ultimate infirm epicurean.
Look back the slipped decade,
What you were before wedlock days,
What expectations grand saddled on back
For an epic run in epic hours
Marshalling all means at the end of your tether
With clapping thunder of joyous send off.
Petals of heightened romances were strewn
Hundred followed ye, innumerable crackers burst with cannon imagination,
Bugle with heroic tune sped the determined legs.
Then came endless run for supposed Troy
To set you as king with your supposed queen in pedestal throne.
Now welcome the plateful Moon
That on rising mood in vast desert
And where you too harnessing a family life with
Stamping aching feet with breaking spirit,
Flies of wants are now miserable nuisances
Making your Trojan look so old and a fool.
Cactus of dry summons appear haunting,
Lonely silence render ye forlorn.
Where is your Helen? Where is your supposed throne?
An ancient pet in mistress fold
With ageing winking eyes that still toys a Trojan dream?