On Seeing An Unexpected Online Presence
Much have I dreamt in the days of old,
And many goodly poems and stories written;
Now by absence of a muse sorely smitten
with unspun dreams and stories untold.
Sometimes my wide expanse I’d behold
and rue the lost emotion that ruled my demesne;
Yet did I continue in vegetation serene
until by some chance did her glimpse unfold.
Then felt I like some astrologer wise
When Ophiuchius swims into his ken;
Or like stout housewife when with eagle eyes
she star'd at new series— and then
I look'd in the mirror with wild surmise —
He still lives, that gent within.
Rusty, but still. Also, profound apologies.
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