#221
Troubadour
Looking for a rhyme, I am,
A word to match moonlit,
A nature word, a garden word,
A pretty word to fit
With starlit evening wanderings
And hands that interknit,
Like Lovers from the Renaissance
Who on stone benches sit.
Alas, the song has knackered me,
And sadly I submit.
Emily wrote that
"Fame is a bee.
It has a song--
It has a sting--
Ah, too, it has
a wing."
Delightful, poignant. It occurred to me that fame might be defined using another entomological image, one that may be somewhat delightful, but probably not poignant:
Fame is a flea.
It has a poem--
It has a bite--
Ah, but, it has
no flight.
