If time should ignore and left unextolled

The poems I’ve written, the stories I’ve told

Reputation might suffer, but not so the man

Because somehow what is, evinces God’s plan.

The warbler doth warble, while woodpecker pecks

The rare spotted owl is quite covered with flecks

The hummingbird hums, while the song sparrow sings

While I merely attend to these marvelous things.

The rose has a nose ere it enters the room

To leave cold hearts warmed by its healing perfume

Perspective grows past the sum of each part,

Through the greater gestalt of discovering art.

Trains of sound left like cracker crumb clues

Must thus improvise when conveying their news

Without contextual aid for clarity put on it

The doggerel verse- might well seem a sonnet.

What musicians all do through intentional note

I’ve left clearly sounded by all that I’ve wrote

(Yes, Yes, I know; I’m suddenly smitten

That couplet before should all be rewritten.)

For each little message will so be remembered

For what wasn’t spoken, yet merely engendered

When bare nerves get touched, and yet so finessed

The naked truth’s seen as though fitly dressed.

There is left then this pearl couched in the riddle

Of an island-stored treasure stashed the middle

Confess, I’ve done naught, but my provident part

To erase human distance, and perchance, touch your heart.