Slipping in a bit under the wire for poetry month, I know — despite the best of intentions, this month has ended up getting away from me a bit. Since I do still have at least one or two EPIC VERSE ideas in what has been a rather scant April thus far, I’m going to let the gimmick spill over a little into May, so by all means please continue to toss opening lines out there! Also, for this edition, bonus credit to Rakael Towers AND Khizzara, for providing a one-two punch of the first TWO lines of the poem. And, ahem, thereby doing a little more of my work for me. *cough*

Shall I compare bacon to a summer’s day?
Thou art more crispy and delectable.
A summer’s morn for hours shalt while away;
In minutes, bacon: undetectable.
Sometimes a summer’s heat may tax the souls
Of they who labor ’neath the searing sun.
(Though, honest let us be: the peon proles
Who labor thus: for they, my cares, not one.)
But bacon’s heat, its sizzle, wafting scent,
Of these can only majesty be spoke;
The peon reaching for my snack be rendt,
The hand that grabs a piece, by me is broke.
     So long as troll or orc my bacon leaves,
     So long lives he, and without labor breathes.

EPIC VERSE!