A POETIC ORPHAN

She sits alone Shunned by those that rhyme With sublime Ridiculed by the raucous And bellicose For of all the words It is said She is the only one That doesn’t rhyme With anything. She has ceased defending Her presence In the molten shades Of breaking dawns Her streaming brush stroked Sunsets She often sits alone Amid the seasonal splendor Of a New England Autumn Shuffling through the rustling Shades and shadows of her self. She knows who she is And that she does rhyme For to rhyme Is to blend easily Seamlessly take center stage Without seeking applause. She seeks no curtain call Only the crest of sunrise Act one, Scene one