Bard I am not, when the language
is love and the talk is of amour
Words I know, having read the dictionary
but phrases I cannot string together
Homily on love, you ask?
I think not, god, the doubt
The dizzying want, the parted lips,
Wine turning into vinegar
Knowing a little of the language,
Is it worse than none at all?
To speak of passion, hurl an insult,
Yet not truly touch the heart?
I said I am not a poet, nor can I sing,
at least not well, hunched in the dark
hovering over the tattered hymnal, breathing.
Arias the shadows of my inamorata
14 September 2010
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I like the one a ton!!! Miss seeing you around Mr. Gumbo!!! I hope you are well.
ReplyDeleteyour word shakes bring all the girls to the yard...
ReplyDeleteshake on, shaman
Rene
works for me, this is great!
ReplyDeleteMethinks this fine man is indeed a Bard, weaver of words that touch hearts and souls.
ReplyDeleteHunched over something in the dark is never a good thing.
ReplyDeleteI would rather know a little of the language than never to have had a word of it cross my lips.
ReplyDelete