His runes haven’t changed much
the rhymes and flows still
go hand and hand with the wind
that’s blowing my eyes
like the ripples on the sea
they dampen my eyes with affinity
Ah! those rhymes are like little bubbles
playing tricks as they vanish to the shore.
His fine lines, flowing like water
of sapphire crystalline, endeavoring to reach
the far bank, to play with the white sand.
Though at times, the color of the day is gray
the sun would appear through the touch of his quill
and daybreak beckons a vibrant golden orange appeal
Mr. Poet, come to me and show me how
to write an ode that can lift a heart to the sky
they say it’s easier to pen a tragedy
than to paint a smile from the lips of a baby
superb!
Starward