PROFESSOR ABRAHAM SONNETS' DIARY- SONNET 27

Winces.A wight's winces with naturewit's own cleavages of pendulous pleas,Mine being incongruous with that wit's end,And loop with the sinecure,whereon to shun the streets,where the lion trods,Hast thouthe lucky dip mastery of my malinger,o that adophobiac wraith!A shrinking violets'sheepish clothing,Who lives in the fig of imagination,Rather than the headlong saddle prowl plunges,To bring home the bacon right the lion's den,With the unsteadi'd pendulum worn as robe as is falsity of a filial-like-piety,Basking infalse pretences,with adophobia much more bloody than its rolling moss,Will that riffl'd barrel be shot,with its machinegun nest?Oh no,a riffle varnish'd by adophobia,canst no go beyond its rifflerange and trigger naive of riffleshot,let alone a trajectory above the rift valley,Be in dexterity or in ropey plain,that mortifying rosebud of an adophobiac,cannot by transmogrify endears,And then mountainbank,muggins take solace beneath rift valley,To loop for a relief to the golden fleece,that mug's game...