The second volume of poetry from my collected Anthology, an undoubted evolution on the first. Topics and themes covered are eclectic, as are the styles. YOU 29th November 2009 Shall I compare thee to a Flander's Mare? Thou art more ugly and distemperate Rough hewn is your face from the filthiest of clay And with all haste you clear your plate The sight of you doth make me turn a blind To look on a fat man's brownish rim And so your hairline all the time declines To look not unlike a bowl's round rim And from the winter of your tirade I long to find shade Indeed my love you extremely blowest And the breath that thou breathe seems like to death and garlic cheese Which makes mine stomach churn and protest And that is why I long to run from thee And bury myself under a tree (c) Copyright Christopher Bellamy