Ode to My Lovely 45-Year-Old Mot

Stood and met a falling star,

How moon’s swifter in night‘s dark

Singest thy herde from the comet’s shower,

As serene like an ancient lark.

Shored and caught a winging star,

Near the riffle and the mart.

I with rouleau in Gothic favor,

Twinkled by twilight of thy spraying clart.

Shift and kiss a fallened star,

I be the squab and your soother are

Of shinning vigour, like thousand years be-part.

Je t’aime, my dearest mother.

So long live you been my love of treasure,

So long live non of we three could measure.