Hello again! Birth beckoned and I had to be gone for a week, welcoming another precious little one into the world, along with her delighted parents and all who were prepared before hand to love her. Lovely. But I didn't get to write much, and even now you find me with a diminutive offering, meant only to half-placate until I can get the rest of my act together:
May I salute the color green?
With Doggerel or with Prose obscene?
For though I am thrice-blessed with wit
My ignorance makes sport of it.
While words I may string cleverly,
First must the words be found by me.
My idols smile upon myself,
Condescending on my shelf—
Kipling, Lewis, Dickinson,
Browning, Shakespeare, Tennyson,
Tolkien, Burnes, OBEV,
MacDonald, Scott, Shelley—
All with ready thoughts and lines,
Mingling well like ancient wines,
Men who caught and trained their words
To sing like lovely cagéd birds.
I, you see, don't even deem
To follow through with stated theme—
I've long forgot my point, I mean—
What happened to that Ode to green?
1 comment:
I absolutely love this! You are ever more clever with each letter that you write. I especially like the part about writers who've captured their words like caged birds. Nice!
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