by Paul Roe

Created on: March 22, 2010

Nothing, Captain, simple debris,
I'd give anything a famous poet to be;
Their lives so filled with flights and charms;
A mansion would house me, a woman would,
She'd watch me roam,
Not let me work and ask me but an ode,
One that tells of her as fair,
Skipping down the road.
 
I would picture her in every human scene,
And picture where most heavenly she'd be:
Move her round like a bike, then freeze her
Where most the world and she
A perfect complement would be;

Then paint this in words,
Her many ambitions,
Her underside,
Her mansion and us together;

For fame and verse to me would come easy,
So juvenile she looks in her orchards breezy.

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