Most flowers are visited by the bee.
As for me
I remember a flower’s tender heart
That I have not the art
To describe,
Save to say
That it was exceeding sweet inside.
But another bee
(not me)
Did steal away
It’s bloom.
It’s heart being broken
Others visited soon.
There was a young lady named Charleen
Who I have never seen.
She had a boy who looks like me
Which is strange – you see
As I have never met Charleen …
Sums on a page
Are cold.
Yet they hold
The attention of lady Night
Who exits (stage right)
To meet a knight
In tarnished armour.
We all, sooner or later have to pay the bill. Service’s poetry can not be described as complex. It is, however none the worse for that, and in his poem “The Reckoning” Robert Service hits the nail on the head, https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46645/the-reckoning-56d2269728b85
There once was a demon named Wood
Who truly wished to be good.
He went out on the town
His sorrows to drown
And was found, face down, in the mud!
There was a young priest named Locke
Who did the devil mock.
This caused Satan to howl
In a manner most foul,
Which gave the angels a shock!
There was a young man named Guy
Who said “I shall surely die”.
He played Russian Roulette
With his wife Yvette,
But the gun was pointed at the sky …
—
There was a young man named Guy
Who said “all flesh must die”.
He played Russian Roulette
With his wife Yvette,
But the bullets where made of pie!
Too much reading
My imagination feeding.
It’s a little after 1 am
When
I hear you hoot,
The night’s flute
So cold and so clear
Instilling a dull fear.
Somewhere a TV or radio burbles on,
Then owl and noise are gone.
I drink in the silence
Then sleep sets me free.
But no
It is not so
For I dream
A dream in early December,
Of what
I don’t remember,
For the individual man
And his dreams are soon forgot.
K Morris - Poet 