Un-stagnated muse, the sapient move,
That’s burn in the league of tidy dove.
Tickling cock, barking dog, in name;
It grows and flies as the wake of time.
Poorly clayed name caps no glory;
Filth is its leftover, unwary.
For un-mouthing name-calling bird
Brings trinket and ring to safely gird.
For captain’s hope to win more ship(s),
Wins jolly along in the shore of kinship.
Where innate ignites its selfless-fame
Is where it reverse buries its self-flame.
And for the sea, the earth and beyond,
The born in its upturned bone and bond.
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.