a terza rima
Our senses one by one we strive to glut
As though excess alone could make us feel.
So gorge we greedily to pad our gut
Or drink as if some awful wound to heal.
Then, envious of other sense, the eyes
Demand their due and stare, with fervent zeal
At flick’ring screens, both large and small in size
To binge-watch all our precious TV shows—
Meanwhile a little something in us dies.
So every act shall harvest what it sows.
Comments
Michael Mayhew
June 6, 2015
Permalink
you know all the fancy pome styles!
I always have to look 'em up.
Fun stuff!
MM