OpusculeA Poem by bigfootprintI bow to mild temerityIt may mimic opuscule When I create the page, However nice it sounds To pass for wit or sage. Still, the poet pens away Oblivious to the critic Who may call it prolixity, Wretched, or comedic. The soul rises to express A vision of carnal bliss. What the heart desires, The mind may only guess. Not so much for posterity, But pardon my secularity. I bow to mild temerity With a nod to sincerity. © 2018 bigfootprintAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorbigfootprintBossier City, LAAboutHi I'm Doug Fowler, age 77, proud American. Perpetual student, newspaper copy editor (retired), poet, novelist, painter, Christian minister, USAF veteran, and pool player. I live alone and like it (bu.. more..Writing
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