‘My youngest brother’s a banished lord,
For he has betrayed eight ladies fair
And seemely is to see,
And as he rode over the plaine,
He chas’d the deer now him before,
He’s woo’d her for her yellow hair,
Left the lady sorrowful behind,
And a’ women’s curse in his company’s gane.
Curious about centos? Check out some of the other centos that the yeah write community has assembled for our January poetry slam, or stop by the coffeehouse for a rundown on what a cento is and how it works!
- graceful press poetry: And how the silence surged softly backward
- the relative cartographer: Long Distance
- arden ruth writes: Abandoned