Poetry

Thursday, 19 March 2026

Bowsprit

 I wake to the sound of traffic

Buzzing in my ears

Busy bees so hard at work

Goes on and on for years


Where do they get to while I rest?

A few more miles up the mountain

Pushing the boulder as Sisyphus

To reach the eternal fountain


Well I'm down here in my hovel

But I don't bow and I won't grovel

It seems like spit is rain off my shovel

I'm staying home today

No comments:

Post a Comment