in the &mpers&nd

lonely flights, lonely nights  
—him that hath no friends;  
dreams undreamt, dreams unkempt  
—where no love transcends  
bitter ways, bitter days  
—elements of doubt.  
every ache, every quake  
—evidence the drought—  
of someone left undone  
by the pride of life,  
little hope in the scope  
of the bleeding knife.  

commonsense eloquence  
lingers at the door;  
take a chance, take a stance  
—set a new rapport!  
for the more you ignore  
treasures in the sand,  
is the least you will feast  
in the ampersand,  
when the world, newly pearled,  
bids the ransomed come  
to that rest of the blest  
who have longed for home.  
 
© Copyright 2021 March 21  
by Clyve A. Bowen♫