Ode To The Unfinished Poem
Some say that it’s no use,
crying over spilt ink
The piece is done
-now leave it in the moment
Take the time to feel the flowers;
absorb inhale aroma
a 'literreal ambrosia
But:
by the blue-blooded balls of Byron and
Billy Butler Ba-Buckin-eh Yeats
I so swear:
From the lips of every aching letter
there lies in limbo craving cradle
sobbing sum of crying character
something far the much more greater:
“I know that it’s good but,
we can do so far the better”
copyright Randy Resh 2002-08-...
poem by Randy Resh
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