I wake up every morning and
gather in the slaught of thoughts, so thankful
for this grand impetus who wrought
me this unique songbird;
this distinct wonder chirps the most
loving sonnets while looking right at me,
for I am enthralled with her serenade, for
this tiny marvel rivals Mozart in every
remarkable reprise and splendid melody,
her pitching tone and melancholic litany-
so mournful- a perfect authentic cadence of trills from
this magnificent rarity, possibly her loving
hymn a lost requiem, though her reflective
pitch is angelic as the highest chord, she brings
me to tears, for so much beauty in such a small
creature for whom sings to me her morning matins
at my front doorway is beyond heavenly.
- John Hardesty
Monday, January 28, 2019
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Herding Cretan milk goats and chanting Greek verses to poly gods, writers ascribe to the pastoral hymns of sorrow where time’s the thief...
-
Avoid distress; forlorn hope, threadbare of loneliness, even Icarus’ boldness, jubilation, and carelessness bedeviled his own ego. Tak...
-
We always played cards in the back of Squire's Bar and Grill, a little hole in the wall place. I lost that night at cards a...
-
Sitting in a death chair at the Cleveland Cancer Center whilst my body is being pumped with platinum grade-A poison. The six hours of...
No comments:
Post a Comment