Everything I’ve said has been
As good as it could have been,
Even edited and re-read,
And though my grasp of the
Language may be anchored
On the banks of the Ouse I’ll
Keep shaking its chain to loosen
Letters as long as I can; racing
To chase and make another word
To etch at the end of the next.
And once a sentence has slid
To its eventual end decisions
Are sought, forks hawked, and
Directions taken, leaving alternative
Worlds of syllables adrift; for
This will do, and is set for good
Reason, although maybe in a
Season or two it will change,
Or rearrange, but by then
Who would ever know?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Ian you have some amazing poems on here, I have really enjoyed reading them and am ready for more.
ReplyDeleteBrilliant, well done!