|
Poetry By
Jaime Lee Moyer
Minstrel
In older times,
He would have been a minstrel,
Drawing crowds on street corners,
Declaring his love of meter and rhyme
By singing songs from his own pen,
Of lust and love gone terribly wrong,
Or on exceptional days its course ran true,
Paying his way with coins tossed
Into a toast brown hat,
Or onto an outstretched cloak
Of faded forest green,
Never having to tussle with his pride,
His sense of what a man must do
To honor his commitments,
And deaf to the insinuations that his
Need to color the world with words
Was somehow wrong.
|
Print this page
E-mail this page
