I Wake Up Early, Like the Other Old People Do

Through the beauty of words, an unsuspecting poet unleashed his passion, instilling it into my brain. His in un-familiar form, written flawlessly, so sweet they say. Oh, do not hungry nor tease me with your musing, for my stomach surely can’t wait to peek through the youth of your life Do not ask what my heart can do, once young, but now complicated and ageing on my favorite pillow. Nor seek the truth, inside me, wandering not from my ways. Do you see in my face the youthfulness, once I had, now hidden for eternity behind this frail skin, and clothed by this grayed beards of my yesteryears? A great rhymer, sometimes a free-verser, so many years ago, versified the Earth. Not of salt, but by his wondrous soul, tinged with crackling hues of fall. O you, who de-versify me do I see thy quill rhyme? Then bother not thy self to ask about my sonnet.