The Black Lady Sonnets
By Billy Shakespeare
Sonnet 128
How oft, when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.
= new reply since forum marked as read
... that put a smile on my face! 
May those who love us, love us; and those who don't love us,
may God turn their hearts;
and if He doesn't turn their hearts,
may he turn their ankles,
so we'll know them by their limping.
A funny copy cat ~~>> http://www.democraticunderground.com/1018322650
All about the poll ~~>> http://www.democraticunderground.com/1018321843
I am so happy about all ^^^ the ^^^ usernames that show.
thanks for the extra smiles! 
Is not for the faint of heart ~ "Rabrrrrrr moved Match Game to Sunday"
