Chillax

Thought I’d go out
And chase the Sun,
But when I got outside
The Sun was gone.
What strange days, these days be;
The ball moss now grows at the top of the tree.
Went to see the artist
To see if I’m in the picture;
Only to find I was framed
For a love I didn’t commit.
What strange days, these days be;
While the ball moss crowns across the tree.
Thought I’d go get lunch
And went for some real New Orleans,
But filé spices were lacking
For my creole-baked red beans.
What strange days, these days be;
The ball moss grows all around the tree.
Waited for a lady
By the lady’s stuff store;
Out came some clouded women
Wearing perfume by the ladle and more.
What strange days, these days be;
Ball moss now falls from the top of the tree.
Thought I’d stay inside:
See how dark the clouds have grown?
When I wasn’t looking
The old tree had crashed all the way down.
What strange days, these days be;
Gone is all the ball moss and all gone is the tree.

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About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on May 6, 2014, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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