I’ve never studied
What the Poets say
Nor worried much
How they place their words
Or why that way
I do not know
How to write a sonnet
I am not sure
What makes pentameter
Iambic
I hope that’s OK
While the moon
By just a half
Whispered lightly
On the sly
Love awaits
On farther shore
Beneath the peaks
Upon the sand
It will not linger
For a moment more
Nor even greet you
When you make land
If no love
Has filled your sails
If no love
Has filled your sails
Splish splash
Boat at anchor
On the sea
Roly poly
Float the logs
Storms set free
The clouds did not break
The sun did not shine
So I sat with the rain
Found the beauty in the greys
With the susurrus of droplets
Falling on the gentle sea
In the peace I found there
The spark of a mirthful hope
Perhaps it would be better
If the rain did never end
The unyielding
Asks me
To yield
So I become the cloud
Pass over the peaks
Flow through the valley
I align with the supple forces
Which overcome the implacable
Oh
The many beauties
Of ageing
No need for
Destination
No need
To have a plan
Not yet
But scan
Horizons
For potential
For places I’d like
To get
And I
Delight in the roar
Of rushing water
Coursing over stone
For a moment
At least
As content
To view the scene
As to be in it
Pix to Words 