As Floats the Common Cabbage Moth
As floats the common cabbage moth upon the autumn breeze,Or wanders ‘round the hungry chook beneath the orchard trees,So twist and turn my thoughts they do, intent to verse produceWhile sitting at my writing desk, with thoughts of orange juice. Blue cloudless is the morning sky, sun’s shadows climb the wall.But nothing seems to come to mind for poetry at all.The day it beckons forcefully, and beckons once again -Will I let it beat me though? Will I put down my pen? But vision splendid has not come, nor rapture e’er so sweet.Nor burst of inspiration to knock me off my feet.So, like the common cabbage moth, my thoughts they wander on,I’ll go do something else, I think. I’ll see you all anon.