Word Wanderings
(a Florette)
I confess with trepidation
Most poems bear no relation
To what I can grasp with my
head.
Symbolic thoughts! I need,
instead, simple and fun.
While others write of hidden
things
Of fear dressed as gossamer
wings,
Let poems meet me where I’m
at.
Elliot’s The Waste Land falls
flat, word wanderings.
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