Bulrok the great, Bulrok the grand
Manliest minotaur astride Sapiences land
Now ball and chain, now groom righthand
He carries on his rump Aknas fiery brand

And oh what a bride, pulchritudinous view
(If one douses lights and drinks till visions askew)
A marriage of great love it must surely be
And not, as Ive heard, what he seeks to flee

So what if he woos her not with words of lust
Are minotaurs expected to speak their love thus?
Surely through actions is his care expressed
As he lays there, embraced in the quiet of her breast

Reminiscing of life as it used to be
Young, available, fearless and free
Who would want that, who would dare dream?
Not Bulrok, he sighs, NOT BULROK he screams.

Penned by my hand on Closday, the 13th of Midsummer, in the year 505 MA.