Scribblings Poem by Paddy J. P. Harris
Scribblings
I searched and strained for where I’d find that guide,
As I lay turning in my lowly bed,
For verses long since buried deep inside
That melon shaped protrusion called my head.
Where strange and twisted paths have oft times led
To places that do rightly make me rave
With fancy’s beasts and beauties, till I’m dead,
And gone beyond that mythic old ninth wave,
The place that boring people call the grave.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 4:32:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
