I got lost at lunch looking for a particular (and I’m quite sure not mythical) Shakespearian sonnet. No luck there but it did end up with a ramble of a different kind.
If poems were roads, paved and smooth with travel,
no doubt we’d rush to put them to paper
sparing no ink, putting the words quite so
in proper order with exact meaning.
We’d whisper them in darkest ears, at night,
recalling the journeys planned and taken
beneficial rambles sunny and warm
heady and restorative elixirs.
Words strung one to one like cars commuting,
sidling up and past and rearranging,
always flying through the briefest landscapes
then taking a turn and landing somewhere.
What exit? Where are we now? Not quite sure
But since we’re here, how about some lunch, then?
Nice detour you took. I am enjoying where this reading took me. Thank you. B