For poetry I was past my prime,
Would take months to find a rhyme,
My fire was out, wit decayed,
Everything was about to fade,
When my heart once said,
Let's throw the faulty pen,
Came an angel and fixed
And fashioned the canvas
For the scene again,
Like a goblet of wine,
Gold-medal rose like design,
Having a peculiar majestic whim,
And the sweetest exquisite fragrance,
With dazzling, thornless shine
And princessly decorum in chin,
My kingdom of heart found a fruitful hour,
To reconcile thee as a motive power,
Fire rekindled poetry pouring,
Mind lightened spirit soaring,
My flame, my rhyme, my moonlight
My grande dame, my graceful might.
My Imaginary Phoenix
🧅♨️
*Onion Fumes*
