The delight of silly
I sat upon a fence of yearn to see what I could.
Waited for the meadowlark, to stop if it would.
Sing for me or pass me bye or rest upon a tree.
To see if yes or not, it was playing coy with me.
The field was full of daises with daffodils a distance.
I looked upon this beauty with the slightest of resistance.
My hope, to leap the fence and roll around in free.
But I did not wish to be myself, the only one you see.
So I waited for the meadowlark the song that it would sing
And I listened and listened to the sound of its flavoring.
And I could not make my mind up, it seemed a mystery.
When suddenly it touched me and turned it into history.
For now I'm off the fence and plucking daisy leaves,
She loves me, she loves me not, the latter I believe.
And I walk among the daffodils with a paper and a quill.
Making up silly rhymes like a mocking bird in trill.
And if for but a moment, I've left this mundane world,
I'd blame it on the meadow lark and song it did unfurled.