May 24, 2014

 

 

The screen on screen;

a clever scheme,

where work is read

but never seen.

 

A trained ear to the rescue came.

Squeezed in so tight,

yet not the same;

so personal, this crazy game.

 

A word, a phrase,

at random picked,

like ice cream cones

that can’t be licked.

 

But evident

like all sore thumbs,

that stand out in

a bowl of plums.

 

A thought, a tune,

a sudden lilt,

thought out beneath

a duvet quilt,

 

takes on new life

in pastures green,

where work is heard

but never seen.

 

 

 

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