(noah)
September 15, 2024
Rainwater dripping,
drainage pipes ripping,
I’m reading Kipling–fall has arrived.
Water abounding,
sand sack stacks mounting,
poetry resounding like waves in my head.
Storm winds are squeaking,
the old house is creaking,
nothing is leaking–except for my mind.
Cooped up and reading,
real world receding,
authorities pleading “please, stay at home!”
Gladly obeying,
all troubles decaying,
great narratives playing before my inner eye.
The tide keeps on rising,
old Noah surmising,
“We should be baptizing two of each kind!”
Perched on my outpost
of verse, rhyme, and high prose
I’m missing almost the end of the world.
While the flood keeps on flooding
and rivers keep muddying,
I’m quietly studying mankind’s greatest books.