To 'Lilian' who said my poetry stinks like vomit

I won't doubt fate
in keeping present
ill for future good!

Churning out similes,
across Isles,
much of miles;
Along came he,
for my emotions
to evoke!

Was l ever in need
of praise for you
such a conduct to raise
As far as daisies
have burrows,
Poetry is to my arrows:
Of comfort; of retreat!

Much good may it
do you 'Lilian'-
For Poetry my bluebird
shimmers in an
unwavering soul
where earthlings
call home!