Sometime things go from bad to worse
As I venture thoughts to written verse
The words so lovely in my mind
Don’t translate well in scribbled line
The scenes I paint with careful words
Drop into chaos like fallen birds
Muddled syntax, meaning smeared
By clashing symbols, as I feared
I sought for meter and rhythmic beat
and displayed the grace of clumsy feet
I know my meaning should be clear
Should bring emotion, action, tears,
But the tears are mine as I mutter here.
Perhaps prose is more my beat
THERE, the bugle blows retreat.