Avançar para o conteúdo principal

Bocage - um poeta português


Magro, de olhos azuis, carão moreno,
Bem servido de pés, meão na altura,
Triste de facha, o mesmo de figura,
Nariz alto no meio, e não pequeno;
Incapaz de assistir num só terreno,
Mais propenso ao furor do que à ternura;
Bebendo em níveas mãos, por taça escura,
De zelos infernais letal veneno;
Devoto incensador de mil deidades
(Digo, de moças mil) num só memento,
E somente no altar amando os frades,
Eis Bocage, em quem luz algum talento;
Saíram dele mesmo estas verdades,
Num dia em que se achou mais pachorrento.
-- Bocage

Comentários

Mensagens populares deste blogue

An English take on Sorpotel!

Shakespeare on Sorpotel And as I am so thoughtful, I'll do you guys a favour, Though you won't get a mouthful, I'll try to catch the flavour. It's made of many piggy parts, Heart, fat and liver, Vinegar that smells like farts, (Looks like water from the river). The meat is chopped in little bits, After being on the boil. Forty chillies to give you the sh*ts, And half a gallon of oil. And all the grand ol' aunties, Will insist, you'll see, On half a pint of piggy blood, For the right consistency. Oh! Why are you gagging? Why do you look so pale? Did you hear granny bragging? "It's better when it's stale!" It's delicious and it's really HOT We eat on 25th December, On boxing day sit on the pot, And boy! Do we remember! So grab your rope my dearest friends, Draw some water from your well. You'll need plenty of it at both your ends, When you experience SORPOTEL! :)