“The French Girls Still Love William”

Though his rhyme time

Passed ‘fore plastic love prime,
They still sav(i)or his prose
The way red paints a rose.

Their parents frown faun

Upon scissor runnings,
Drive-by gunnings, &
All things bunga-bunga.

House security admits The Bard,

All access pass through Abelard.
No one jests, for his bedrests-
Furrowed & shaken glacier fests.

The plight & pain,

The flight & fain-
Of the loves not wisely but
Too well-scarred offspring.

“Ohh-La-La” the French Girls sigh,

When his magic van rumbles down
Northumberland anon & doles out
All things fair & foul- Bill Pills.

Bereft of a thrill in the fast lane?

Remember, re mem thee Bard’s Tale,
Summer Ale, New Rochelle,
Secrets you neither tell or reve(a)l.

Cloaked in red velvet,

A caped/encased Ophelia,
Trapped under water, maybe ice,
Singing “sur le pont d’avingnon…”
Once, twice, thrice~