Songs Of Solitude

Just now I heard you buzzing

Among blooms of verdant rhyme

Proboscis gently probing

Words that once were mine

You suck that dusty pollen

From generous hearts of prose

Where pens had nightly fallen

Down those trite descending rows

Drawn to colorful adjectives

Spoken word opaque

In flowering ink this poet lives

For the nectar you will make

So Honey Bee come hum along

I will never mind the sting

Fingertips will find a song

On sticky steel strings

hip bones will reverberate

With the deeper tones of sorrow

High, clear notes will illustrate

My hopeful tomorrow


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