It’s a delicate blush, she foregoes her sarong
And her monogrammed raincoat and thinks that it’s wrong
In the style of a fencer in the sunlight to wave
At the Neophytes skipping along to the grave

It’s a praiseworthy meaning, emphatically charged
With responsible vows that insurged and enlarged
And remains undetermined as to who is to blame
But they wouldn’t keep score if it wasn’t a game

It’s observed on occasion that girders are hard
And an avalanche starts with a turn of a card
So from indoctrination we will learn that it’s true
If they take it from me they won’t give it to you

Edited 3 time(s). Last edit at 10/28/2008 01:47PM by JohnnyBoy.

Good one Johnny, though it's hard to imagine anyone "skipping" to the grave. I enjoyed the read from top to bottom.


Les

Thanks Les

"You owe it to us all to get on with what you're good at."
W. H. Auden

Johnny,

So many telling lines here

As usual, I have trouble adding them all up to a single sum, but I'm not sure that matters

It is again like you have a 'mini-novel' in phrase after phrase, like you've started a narrative that goes on long after the 'end' of the poem

Your mastery of the cadence of our language still enthralls me

thanks,

Peter

Thanks Peter, it's important to me that it sound right but sometimes it doesn't mean well