with blind faith,
that he, who wore the robe,
was good,
tiny little Miss Led,
Miss took for his Miss Take,
resulted in a lot of Miss Chief,
made a lot of time for Miss Spent,
spinning lead into gold,
Miss Takes the highway,
to another town,
Mist her on Mainguard street
recognises her frown
knows how to turn out, down,
Miss Creant
breaks with love,
and the falconers glove,
grabs her coat, bus and boat,
Miss Out, Miss in,
Miss Tree,
Miss Sin,
Miss Use,
Miss Told,
now feeling bold,
Miss Treat,
Miss Handle,
Miss Hold a candle,
Miss Fire the flame,
igniting his brain,
Miss Adventure continues,
knowing for sure,
this universe central to her core,
some Miss Score,
the ones who left, are all still here,
they hide in shame, resentment, fear,
they gather to talk about Miss In words,
out standing in their fields,
lack under standing,
her story they stab, they miss,
why the hiss,
telling lies for so long, still makes his story wrong,
this Miss Ion
where all the serpents tails are bit,
doesn't need a song,
to make a big hit,
they call her Miss Spent,
Mist her 'Sad is T' errific at hurt,
teaches her that Mist her Hate lacks faith,
she knows love is eternal and true,
God is the glue,
that keeps Miss True afloat,
knowing a white winged horse
which will arrive, off course
on a figure of 8,
Miss Step with fate.......
look up, look wide,
listen deep inside,
a quiet voice,
so soft and kind,
faithful and true,
if only they knew,
they wouldn't keep doing ,
the things that they do,
their best laid plans,
dye on their hands,
an iron pendulum,
keeps time in check,
truth is wilder than fiction,
what the heck.
not really a poet
but lockdown leaves me to my own devices