Thursday, June 30, 2011

Tonto Dabbles in Sonnets

O thou, my lovely midget clowns, who in thy power

Dost hold laughter’s fickle glass, his sickle, hour;

Who hast by paint and grease, and therein show'st

Thy detractors withering as thy sweet self n'er grow'st;

If Nature, sovereign mistress over ring,

As thou amuse us, still will pluck thee back.

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