Today however, we take great pride in publishing a work that one can imagine as being one of the more personal musings of Mr Allcock, conerning as it does, lost love.
The eternal lake of loneliness (adjacent to the viaduct of our souls)
Oh crimson hue course through my vein,
How can it run when I call in vain.
With hand a’cuppeth, with trumpet, with horn
She hears no words, and left me, forlorn.
Where did she go? Where on earth could she be?
In mire or swamp, or coyly in tree?
Is she on a steamer boat, heading for the Nile?
Is she on a farmers cart, eating carrots by the mile?
Can she hear my plaintive cries, does she even care?
Did she find it creepy when I wanked off in her hair?
Oh fragrant wonder, oh Queen imbued by holy light,
Find my love girded stiffly now, and hold onto it tight.
I miss you more as each day passes,
I crave you more than pants crave asses,
Hold me tight and hold me forever,
Yours sincerely, all the best, Trevor.
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