Gentle Readers,
While not every poem we write is a great one, sometimes we write them anyway. We realize it is time for a blog and Ferd hasn’t done anything noteworthy to report on today, so why not just take the time and take this rhyme and maybe enjoy it and maybe not.
It was on a piece of paper next to the laptop when we woke up, so we may as well share it here and then we do not have to stick it in a drawer with all the other poems on loose leafs.
Our eventual friend, Mr Happy Death, awaits us all, so we may as well give the devil his due and what better way than with some good, old-fashioned poetry?
Many times in this short life
I’ve put myself in danger.
Looking back, I came to know
what didn’t kill me
made me stranger!
Nobody leaves this place alive…
on that I’d always wager.
If you can say a better way,
tell me what it is.
I’ll trade you.
It always goes that way
but there’s still no need to pray
Earth is worth a dearth of mirth.
Why give birth to dismay?
Golden flowers on the quay
float, and bobbing, drift away.
They twirl and whirl, unfurled, then curl.
Surely, sinking ends their day.
~
And that is it, Dear Readers, nothing heavy, nothing lengthy, just a little verse spilled over the wall. A short blog for a rainy day.
