I’ve opined so to watch the sun recede
and stayed as stars emerged and glint to greet.
I’ve sat for time entranced by waves of foam
on soft white sands, and time, the lull my own.
I’ve pondered over rhyme and reasons why
these wordish things that come and go descry
the foundling sense of who I am to be –
in poet stock or simply my esprit.
A manner like dear Blossom could invoke
as hip, thunderstruck, or just a joke.
And I, with rights to be who, as I can
will write, or sing the song like this began.