On which hour on thy social media, thee wilt findeth a miniature of oneself,

But what lie beneath the mask, the true visage?

If thy mask be uncovered, what wilt thou findeth in thyself?

Without perfecteth lighting, maquillage and a plaited corsage.

Not all wilt see what one, like myself, will fancy,

What wilst make one be joyous,

T'is not a thing thats made for a pansy,

some wilst even findeth it boyish.

Haply thou wilt findeth one enjoys liveth stock, t'is not zany,

Heifers, swine, goats, even rodents, don't be vile,

Although thou wouldst thinketh thy poem wouldst be brainy,

Mine loveth'n passion makes a quiant smile.

A quiant smile that no filter, light nor maquillage can capture,

thy thought a showeth ring brings me rapture.