On rose and thistle

Does sunlight stumble

Toward what?

But a withered prospect.



Through hour through year

Through vain attempt.

In party of soil and breed.



Be picturesque

Be bloodied in struggle

At one with earth as in design



-



But faint in breath

A scent of sadness

Spring up! And breast doth rise



In arch of flesh

Place colours of hope

Pray promise but from the father



So stay green grass

And red the flower

Of rose and thistle strain

When muse is lost


And flair be failing


To where do I look for my mana?




In the nooks and the crannys


Are the dregs and the pale


The thoughts not so worthy of print




In my heart is desire


For words that inspire


But I’m blocked by the rustle of feet!




The hum in the air


Craves pulling of hair


When will failings desist?


-


In heart are the answers


Mature in their nature


Written in untarnished text




Virtuotous is patience


Commendable indeed


An art form infrequently found




To better myself


New teaching of tricks


No old dog here will be found


-


Content will I be within silence


Awaiting the discharge of words


Come wind, come rain, come turbulent weather


Come fill my empty page