ortun

i come to drink life lessons  
not potions of impotence  
but portions of eloquence  
i come to count my blessings  
not blunders of dark conscience  
but plunders of recompense  

i stay to pick red roses  
my wanderlust now pauses  
i ponder just fair causes  
i stay till prescience closes  
then find the nearest window  
and bind me with the windflow  
 
i go for greener pasture  
to savour my abundance  
engraver of new substance  
i go for keener capture  
you cry because i’m leaving         
goodbye, my soul is grieving…  
 
© Copyright 2019 February 7  
by Clyve A. Bowen

Visual version here:  http://mydo.cx/NDM3NTI2