I stood and looked
at the Alchemist’s work.
She was paramount,
And surmount
amongst all
others.
But I could not help
to think,
that,
much like the Emperor,
Her words were naked:
profane, simple,
hackneyed,
And ugly.
A sometimes crafter of jeweled verse
that flowed like melodies upon golden lyre,
had lied.
She had crafted a Fart
And wreathed it in flowers golden.
Hmph,
more deserving
of a golden shower.
theDeprevation 