I get the lonesome blues sometimes <br />and turn to those who <br />do not, <br /> <br />like this butterfly, mimicking flowers-on-wings <br />while sipping the last mead <br />from the beds' last blooms - <br />this tender slip of light, so much more rarely seen <br />in withered late October than in fresh July - <br />or these rough birds on the roof: <br />Rooks, with impeccably tough feathers; <br />eye-balls and beaks and claws of cleverness, <br />racing from the Rookery for just one thing: <br />fast food; <br /> <br /> <br />and truth to tell: I do not know <br />why my black heart aches so.<br /><br />Jacqui Thewless<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mood-swing-6/
