The rippled rings that warp the surface; steam
that rises – risen – for to dissipate.
A wand’ring thief with his compan’yun – thrall;
Canayd’yun poet doth through song relate.
Alit along the current air did fall,
in feath’ry glide, a-whilst my coffee waits,
a crow, from whose descending dance I gleamed
enough of life to inspiration sate.
A-buzz, a bee about the table flit
its form – frenetic – as the crow did stand;
a gurgly child upon his shadow sits
‘n laughs at losing it beneath his hands.
In line fourteen a sonnet meets its end
‘n I’ll sail on around time’s riverbend…
Image credit – Frommer’s
william altoft 