The Poem in the Window

‘Twas a poem in the window

I saw it ‘tis true

To the depths of my soul

You must believe me

I beg you

I might not be the most dependable sort

But I assure you dear noble

It’s a gospel report

‘Twas strolling through town…

In the dead of the night

Minding my business

Keeping things right

Then deep in the darkness

‘Twas an echoing song

Not particularly short

Not particularly long

Not particularly loud

Not of that ilk

If I had to describe it

It sounded silky… like silk

Now I may not be the sharpest tool in the shed

But this écho du poème

Was not ALL in my head

So I asked it straight out… “Who art sing-ith to me?”

Then I strained my dear labyrinth, to the N-th degree

I harked beyond the curve and round the bend

Searching for this silken imaginary friend

Alas! In no time I heard a warm little voice

I looked this way and that way

Confusing my choice

So I closed my eyes and stood in the swill

The full moon then joined me, absorbed in the thrill

Then this is exactly what the Moon and I heard

Truth… It’s more than exactly a little absurd

It said…

“Tis I who singeth my verse to you!

I am The Poem In the Window

You saw me ‘tis true!”

“I felt the burden of expiring, running out of time

No one has appreciated my genius in rhyme

Everyone passes with no care and no thought

“Poems?” They say, “What is the plot?”

You see I am POEM, a gem of the past

Unfortunately these days things are moving too fast

We don’t have a second to stop and absorb

Even if “A Poem” cometh straight from the Lord

So tonight I have sung my best and last verse

Hoping to delay the funeral hearse

To make all of poetry… a friend and not foe

In gratitude, Tis I,

The Poem in the Window