Recall me as when we first met
cheek at your cheek, friend of a friend,
ill-conceived but not to forget
words upon words to conscious end
of day, then nights, as transit moon
for Venus strayed, could not pretend
to love her less or leave me soon.
Sputtered protestations blustered,
tuckered out, tossing my fortune
in fortune’s lap having mustered
little strength to orbit, this bond
now thrives despite the frustrated
circumstances of its birth--gone
beyond chance collision to love on.
The Toads are trying out the TERZA RIMA form in the Imaginary Garden. This draft is less than stellar but am currently all wound up in the weird rhymes and have lost track of what I’m trying to say. Yikes!
