The first time
May be
As a rhyme
Betwixt
He and She.
Lips
In passion, fasten
On lips.
But not all poetry
Is written by romantics.
Frantics,
Partake for the first time.
Which is, to my mind
A kind
Of rhyme.
Ah, daffodils
That do banish all ills,
By performing a spritely dance.
Oh the romance
Of it all,
But then the rain did fall.
The flowers where beaten down
And the earth did drown
In a deluge most foul
Which made the poet scowl!
My dog did howl
For in my haste
To taste
Nature’s beauty
I forgot his towel
And my duty
To keep both him and I
Dry!
Oh blasted daffodils
And rain soaked hills!
I need my pills
For I feel chills
That will lay me low
So to the good doctor I must go!
Hey ho
I will romanticise it all
For I recall
How my public do adore
Poems about nature’s beauteous store!
You talk to me of lambs gambling, of ramblers ambling, through fields green, beside meandering streams.
You speak to me of verdant bowers, where lovers while away the hours, in love’s young dream.
I tell you of an urban street, where the gale buffets and people battle to retain their feet.
I impart to you the wind’s loan moan, as I wander home alone, in weather bleak.
K Morris - Poet 