Windy
I wanted to write a poem outside,
but it’s not my fate.
The sunset is spectacular
but the wind is just too great.
The chirping birds, fresh cut grass,
and golden rays of sun
will have to go unremarked for now
As this day is almost done.
Instead I shall have to observe
with some careful wit I suppose
The comings and goings of my own home
Or I could just write prose.
But don’t despair, dear reader
for my lost noble aspirations.
Truth be told beneath the veil
lies pretentious machinations.