Untitled /There was once a lad.../

There was once a lad in our village

that was well known for his shrewd pillage

He was a reveler that partied and gambled

and his life was, somehow, more than a bit scrambled.

His hair was black, very neat and gracefully kept

and at dancing, at prancing, so blissfully adept;

his pace at gatherings was dull and wearisome

but his manners at taverns made the ladies succumb;

at dice games, gambles and through so many joyous songs

he was the best, there were all but few wrongs.

So vulgar, so cheap, from his Master he would steal

and for his game, it sure was a one-time-only deal.

His games, his magic, his carnal desire;

no more than parties he would require

to unwind, and show his gratitude

in any and all games, far to any latitude.

He'd mingle into a holiday, any merry procession

and by nightfall he'd have many a women in his possession.

A thief he was, indeed a man worth no trust

his greed so broad, so fierce, so robust,

ready to pillage and crush, regardless of trade;

in these, his own lessons, those he'd ratter evade.

His Lord grew tired of this devious behavior

and set him free, to take no part on the lad's endeavors

that could risk his other apprentices's training

and his hopes for his money, or what was remaining.

And so, he thief traveled the world, had a chap and a wife,

much his kin; as wicked and vile as the edge of a poisoned knife,

and so the three procured a shop, one of all many, to show,

but all gamble, all games in the back; the money, did never slow.

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