Friday, October 09, 2015

The Fiddler

I realize I should have put more work —
Some! — into keeping this page up to date.
If I keep slowing down, down, at this rate
I'll come to a complete halt, with a jerk.
So let's not wait; the coffee's on to perk,
I see barbarians are at the gate,
And now we leave the fiddler to his fate,
Debouching Mozart's Rondo à la Turk.

Drink up, and I'll jot down a few loose thoughts
About what I hear in the deep heart's core
(I'll try, like Willie, not to be a bore),
Vacationing in empty ploughed-up lots
And singing drunken songs. I'm in my pots.
Sometimes The Sonnet Page is just a chore.