(A lone voice whispers)


No happiness for me and my best friend
Tony the pony today

For we lost our beloved muse
At 2 pm

One minute she was in full view
Perched on our old Oak tree

Watching us with beady black eyes like a true devotee

Then just like the uptake in poetry

In the 21st Century
By the younger generation

We were old news

She must have flew away to better things, we both thought

As we walked home
Past the village post office

Thinking of our old muse
With the crow like black hair

Lost to us forever

After getting us addicted to reading writing and listening to poetry

Underneath that old Oak tree
Now flying alone

Somewhere
Out there

Looking down below
For a new home

Like it once had
With Tony the pony

And me

(C)
Copyright John Duffy

Foundation.

Is poetry like a bird flying around looking for somewhere new to land, after introducing others to its mysterious pleasures?

But as the newer generations get addicted to gaming platforms, and social media.

Will it eventually find landing, harder and more and more rarer?