I, The Idiot
They say I'm an idiot,
A simple dotard,
But I don't grapple with appellations.
I'm like Straw bones--
Not caring why Lincoln calls him that.
I care about autumn leaves--and Fina.
She scurries to the pile,
Brown like herself.
Tail and stems together.
Everything scatters and she barks!
Watching is a pleasure,
But I don't miss the vagrants without Higher destinations passing by.
A shining idiot?
I don't struggle with opinions.
After I shed my old
My flame will burn brighter.
Submitted by: Naimah on 02/27/015
Tagged with: Voice of Muse