Music
If you set aside the letter P
from the word POETRY
then what remains is OETRY.
And if you read what’s left like it looks
you have OH, TRY –
which in my plebby opinion
is what my muse keeps singing
in a variety of musey ways
when I whine I’ve nothing to say.
Yes, she sings. Doesn’t yours?
Mine grabs me and says “Oh, a tree.” and then leads my heart up in wonder of textures and colors and life! And once again the heart-ground is softened and brought to life.
This one made me laugh, John. And yes, mine sings! Thanks, Peg