True Colours
It startles me that you should be
So disappointed in my poem
That you’d even mail my home
To tell me that you don’t agree!
The kind of poetry I wrote
Is not the kind you’d like to see?
Oh fie! Oh my! Oh, dearie me!
A rising lump still gags my throat:
For failing you will make me blue,
Or green with envy; red with shame!
But soon I’m pale and wan again
—The proper shade for poets true.
Having no countenance but mine,
I can but try my lines to rhyme.
Tia Azulay 15Jun94–29Nov06
Copyright © 1994, 2007 Tia Azulay
Like this! I can hear you in it.