November 15-17, 2018


I know of some whose lilting words

flit free the air as though were birds

with rhythm light and gentle rhyme

Dear Reader tempt to while their time

upon a pleasant poesy


where I employ much cruder means

akin the buzz-saw drone of bees

staccato burst upon ones sense

and seldom from his form relents

to pen a pleasant poesy


I could not tell you which is best

if hurried words are equal blest

as those of brilliant golden flow

or dimmed before a greater glow

defer to pleasant poesy


A poem by Peter Rhebergen

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Each New Day A Miracle
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