Poetry By
Jaime Lee Moyer
Published on: 6/23/2005
Minstrel
In older times, He would have been a minstrel, Drawing crowds on street corners, Declaring his love of meter and rhyme By singing songs from his own pen, Of lust and love gone terribly wrong, Or on exceptional days its course ran true, Paying his way with coins tossed Into a toast brown hat, Or onto an outstretched cloak Of faded forest green, Never having to tussle with his pride, His sense of what a man must do To honor his commitments, And deaf to the insinuations that his Need to color the world with words Was somehow wrong.
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