An Apology For Verse
Years ago, my words took flight,
An amateur poet, lost to the night.
With ambition high, yet rhythm askew,
I sang Lark, but the notes were few.
Old narratives sojourned amongst the trees,
A chromatic fire stoked by an elevated breeze.
An epicure sought the finest bread,
A sourdough substance old grains fed—
For afternoon tea near the park, a fleeting hour,
An artist’s hand shaped sugar into a flower.
Like plucking the feathers from a lark,
A silent witness to rhymes restless mark.
An alias account, an anonymous page,
An unbelieving apology, tempered with age.
Remembrance Day—let words make peace,
Let anti-profanity grant them release.
Like an ant hill teeming, a world so small,
Yet each adoption, an adventure for all.
An abandoned dog with eyes so wide,
Found love anew, yet, reader, do you chide?
An annuitant waits, with a mind now still,
For the stories of youth no journal can fill.
Accordion notes play Lark, to loud, no-flow,
A poem—a line—lost many years ago.
WoPoLi 
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