Hello, Lad. Months-by-Months your Frame stood last
Seemingly asking why I took to Stare
Earlier in White; Then later in Suave
Probobly asking why I must Compare
Yet shrug my Sides as I beg your Aplomb
As much as Bob's Uncle be so Polite
In fairness, Conscience reprieve this draft Comb
Hoping which Minted Dames nip you in-spite
Now that's Blokey! Ferment this Promised Man
Yet set your Seeded Expectations flow
Take it from me; Less Abrasions you can
And trust the Seasoned Youth in your arms Grow.
Well, be Well. To which I pray your Joy's Ripe
To weave your Dogs; And in design a Knight.