Paean

Warm breeze

Shoving tawny wings

All the higher.

 

Yet when I stutter,

Stumbling on this language

I love

Perhaps because

It is the only one I know,

Well enough to curl up

Ensconced in it’s shell

With a mug of cocoa,

While it protects me

From thoughts which

Cannot be phrased.

 

For when I stumble,

Whisk through my words

It sounds far sharper

A hurricane

Sent from Apollo

To line up my faults

In alphabetical order.