(A lone voice whispers)
No happiness for me and my best friend
Tony the pony today
For we lost our beloved muse
At 2 pm
One minute she was in full view
Perched on our old Oak tree
Watching us with beady black eyes like a true devotee
Then just like the uptake in poetry
In the 21st Century
By the younger generation
We were old news
She must have flew away to better things, we both thought
As we walked home
Past the village post office
Thinking of our old muse
With the crow like black hair
Lost to us forever
After getting us addicted to reading writing and listening to poetry
Underneath that old Oak tree
Now flying alone
Somewhere
Out there
Looking down below
For a new home
Like it once had
With Tony the pony
And me
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
Foundation.
Is poetry like a bird flying around looking for somewhere new to land, after introducing others to its mysterious pleasures?
But as the newer generations get addicted to gaming platforms, and social media.
Will it eventually find landing, harder and more and more rarer?
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