The days flit by,
The Autumn leaves
Fall from the trees
And rustle in the breeze,
But here I’ll spend my time
In search of rhyme.
The cold is here again,
The snow
Is back in drift and flow,
But I will go
Within my mind
And spend my time
In search of rhyme.
The frost comes, then the thaw,
Then warmer days once more,
But I remain, explore
The stanzas,
And pentameters,
And occupy my time
In search of rhyme.
Come Spring and Summer,
Migrant birds and green
Remain unheard, unseen
For one who’s lost between
The meter and the rhythm,
And squandering his time
In search of rhyme.
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