Poetry by Dianne Ames


[Conversations with C.B.]


Hubris, hubris, oh where is thy sting?
Is the dew that falls in morning's wink
Not placed beyond my window's brink
To humor only me?

Only me, only me ... what lies beyond self's pale?
Is all the world a puppet show
And all the players made to know
For me they do regale?

Do I possess the winter snows
That sparkle with mysterious glows?
How do I own the truth that blows
Beyond my fingers and my toes?

~ For my beloved C.B. ~




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