Another step down my poetic road:
I now present to you the classic ode:
Ode to April …
Oh thou left there abandoned on the grass,
Such strain that things have come to such a pass –
Unloved, rejected, sadly there you lie
Shunned and avoided by each passer-by
Well to the side of forest beaten track,
(In fact, behind the bushes, and well back,)
But somehow all are sensing where thou be,
And they pass by there really hastily!
Yet by her fair lips hast thou once been kissed,
In passing, parts I love quite closely missed,
And fair to look upon, when in thy prime,
Reduced to brown and sticky pile of slime …
What’s this? I’ve got it wrong? Ode AM! My word!
The third of April, and not April’s turd?
(Yes, I know. I am in bad ode-er!)
© Colonialist April 2013 (WordPress)