Speaking my words out loud,
thankfully to a small and polite crowd
Trying to keep the pentameter
as my hands shake, the papers quake
and my voice comes in starts and stammers
Reading, as always, for the first time
words i already know to be mine
They always find me
filled with more than curiosity
at what i may find there
Though i know the path,
each footstep is new
Colors change with the seasons;
Gentle Fall covers the Summer Youth
as Old Man Winter repairs and prepares
his snowy blankets and frozen quilts
Inedible berries wither on the vine,
geese swim in frigid waters;
swamp marshes and also in the brine
Images rushing past me
are not always mine
but i will take them gladly
and share them with you
for believe me when i say;
it is the least i can do...
10-04-10
No comments:
Post a Comment