© 2017 Steve King
All rights reserved
I wish that there were fewer words,
or better weight to fill them up,
with sense alive to leap each pause,
and means to separate all ends from cause.
This randomness I’ve long endured,
and though it bears me with an ease,
I cannot help but mourn each blank,
adept, it seems, but never sure.
A new verse for Friday
55,
so graciously hosted by Hedgewitch.
