A Praedilection for Diphthongs

whye not

original photography, the kid on the bike is the writer’s son

by Joe

Roeses are sanguine
Violettae are blue
Daisies more cream in hue
Like wool from a ewe

Quite a bouquet
Round of croquet?
No time to slay?
Okay. Okay.

Ounce by ounce
I dip my toes
Pound for pound
I weigh my woes

Let woes be choked
By spirits oaked
Euphoria stoked
Reverie provoked

My carefree days of yore
Revoked
My humble meal of eggs
Deyolked

O’er this soup of musings I toil’d
My faintest fears and doubts embroil’d
My shot at fame and fortune foil’d
My slide into despair, well oil’d

To conclude this diffuse account
Let me this rambling beast dismount
But lessons learn’t being paramount
I‘ll remind you, though it be trite