Script
Gust of wind greets,
Pages now hurl;
Stray paper sheets,
Mood swings now swirl.
No words to-day
To write a wrong;
Script fails to play,
No verse or throng.
There is a squeeze
In wind-blown leaves;
No motive breeze
To sift or lift.
In one sure lot,
An absent wave;
No wordy thought
To brave or save.
Script out of time
As deadline comes;
No pleasing rhyme
To fence or sum.
Leon Enriquez
22 February 2015
Singapore
Copyright © Leon Enriquez | Year Posted 2015
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