Tuesday, March 21, 2017

The Rambler   by Peter Rihbany
                I haven’t fought for gold
               It hasn’t come
               But so
               I eat, I’m clothed
               Don’t need a gun to guard the fort
               That Tyche gives to some

                Hear! Hear! you say
                A man of simple tastes
                An honest man of stable mind

                 But wait!
                 You’ve seen my mind?
                 My friend, I beg thee
                 Tell me where
                 I lost it on the way to here or there
                 And can’t decide
                 Which bus to take or plane to ride
                 Or ambition to scale and sit astride

                       So I saddle a pen
                        And I ramble

                        The red rose of summer
                         Has no petals to spare
                         Nor the Snowbird a wing
                         Nor a thinker their wares
                         I’m a painting
                         My canvas is drab
                         Without flair
                         So I saddle a pen
                          And I ramble

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